The Bride Wore Red
by Angelada
Summary: By the Gods, he was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, which was all good and well, but there was still a very serious problem to address. She was not supposed to find herself distracted by the groom's eyes–or shoulders, or anything, really—, especially not when she was about to stab his bride and push her off the balcony. (FDB/Asgeir Snow-Shod)
1. Chapter 1

It was a mistake.

There was no other name for it.

She had made a mistake. A huge mistake. A huge, costly, unbelievably stupid mistake that she had no excuse for.

It was never supposed to happen to _her_ , of all people. She was supposed to be better than that— the best, the most skilled. She was supposed to be the _Listener_ , for Sithis' sake.

The job was easy. She'd had tasks far more difficult than it for sure, even if this one was a bit different.

A wedding? By the Void, those were a hassle even when she didn't have to kill the bride.

Yes, it was definitely different from what she was used to, but she'd never messed up so badly before— she was presumably better than that. Perhaps it was exactly that line of thinking that got her in such a mess.

The first part of the plan moved along flawlessly, and she guessed that should have tipped her off about the difficulties that awaited her further down the line. It was just a little too easy to sneak among the wedding guests. She'd obtained an elegant dress without much trouble, having been given more than enough coin in advance by The Brotherhood just for this situation, and she'd snuck in effortlessly despite the restricted movements of her limbs. The rest was child's play— or it should have been.

By the time people started to gather, the assassin was among them, drinking wine and planning her escape routes quietly in a corner— a sunny place to the right of the food tables, but as secluded as it could be at such an event.

There were no shadows; the wedding was to be held at noon, outside, in the blinding sun. The air smelled heavily of lavender and moss, a heady combination. It made her mourn the lack of her hood and snug, protective mask.

Even in such conditions, the assassin knew her plan could be pulled off perfectly.

Her seemingly bored, distracted disposition did not belie the way her pale, cold eyes relentlessly followed the bride.

Vittoria Vici was not an ugly woman, she noted, although the assassin had heard strange rumours about the happy bride— the businesswoman shared her home with an Imperial man (and presumably her bed as well) though she was betrothed not a short while to her new Nord husband. Neither the bride's beauty nor the machinations of the woman's relationships mattered to the assassin as much as Vittoria's blood did. As a cousin of the Emperor, Vittoria's death was a necessary stepping stone in the grand scheme of things, and the recently appointed Listener almost felt pity to behold someone who'd worked so hard not to be defined by family ties ultimately being ended for exactly that. To allow herself such thoughts, though— and pity most of all— was not a slip-up she would ever reduce herself to, and the assassin avoided it with grace.

Vittoria's dress was quite unimpressive, her smile was too practised, her features only too easily forgotten. She was a woman of common beauty and not likely to leave a lasting impression.

No, she would not be a face to hunt her dreams, of that the Nord assassin was sure.

The Listener made sure to quietly and discreetly follow the newly-married couple once they made to move to hold their speech. No one spared her a second look as she moved with purpose after them. She slipped towards the door to the quaint balcony effortlessly, unnoticed, the crowd focused on the bride's words. The Listener, in a private show of jest, sent her silent thanks and praise towards the bride's strong, clear voice for unintentionally making her job easier.

The assassin watched and waited from behind the balcony's ajar door, her eyes sharp, her heartbeat steady and strong in her ears. The dagger she'd prepared was sure to end her target quickly, the poison strong enough to put down a troll— something the assassin knew from experience.

Finally, in time with a strong chorus of cheers from the crowd, the assassin cast an invisibility spell and started to make her approach.

And that was about when everything went wrong.

Somehow, gods knew how, the groom heard something— heard _her_ —, he turned back to face the assassin's shadowed form abruptly, and… She faltered.

She faltered— not in fear, or in disbelief, or out of plain surprise, but because though he could not see her, the assassin finally took a moment to look at the man she was planning to widow.

Piercing blue eyes stared hotly into the shadows from behind unruly golden hair, the colour of ripe wheat. Strong cheekbones sat high on his face, his complexion fair and healthy. She could make out a strong jaw behind the carefully groomed beard that framed his full, pale lips. His furrowed brows, just a shade darker than the gold of his hair, added a fierceness to his expression that suited him well. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, and everything she once pictured the Nord heroes in her mother's stories to look like.

By the Gods, he was one of the most beautiful men that she had ever seen, and no sooner did the thought register, that the assassin felt like hitting herself.

That was all good and well, but there was still a very serious problem to address.

She was not supposed to find herself distracted by the groom's eyes–or shoulders, or _anything_ , really—, especially not when she was about to stab his bride and push her off the balcony. She was certainly not supposed to ogle the man and waste time she did not have.

As if to make that very point, the invisibility potion's effect started to fade away, the clearest indication that she had taken much too long to act, and her fingers almost shook from the strength with which she held the dagger.

The groom's eyes widened in alarm the moment he realised that there really was someone in the shadows behind them, but by the time he moved to react the assassin burst into action. She took off with a soft curse, pressing hard into the stone under her feet to propel herself forward, and quickly slashed Vittoria's throat with her blade, not wasting effort on finesse. The Imperial went down almost immediately— down two floors in two moments as the dizziness caused by the poison, the blood loss, and the pain, made her stumble over the edge of the balcony without any additional help from the assassin.

Vittoria's warm blood sprayed the Listener's expensive green outfit an ugly brown and her face an angry red, and the Nord wiped her face with the back of her hand hastily, smearing some of the salty liquid into her mouth as she did so.

And as if that awkward scene was not enough, it only got worse from there.

The tall, beautiful, magnificent man responsible for ruining her cover called for the guards and charged for her crouching form before she could actually get back her bearings, his hair a golden halo around his face as his horror turned into rage.

That he had managed to get a hold of her arm surprised her, but the Listener shook his grip off easily, rolling away from him with a well-placed kick to his knee that made him grunt in pain and stumble back.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and she took courage from the murderous intent that she read in his gaze.

He made to grab her again, but the assassin was still quick and strong despite her strange sloppiness and she jumped back, climbing down the side of the balcony to make her escape.

"Seize the assassin! She killed Vittoria!" She heard his voice bellow loudly behind her, and she dutifully ignored the way her stomach clenched at the raw pain she could hear behind the anger.

Her heart thrummed in her ears as she fought her way through the city guards present at the wedding, horrified and mournful cries rising loudly in her wake as the people around her realised what had happened. Other guards were sure to answer the call to apprehend her, and considering how close the temple was to the Imperial headquarters, she did not like her chances if she delayed her departure from Solitude for much later.

Imperial trained soldiers were persistent and they chased their prey like rabid dogs, but she managed to get away from the temple with her life in the confusion and chaos she'd caused, if only by a hair.

Solitude thirsted for blood, for her blood, and she did not allow herself even a moment to think as she ran into the proper city. If she wanted to get away, she needed to reach the wider streets. The low roofs would allow her to hide, and if only she could get to the city's walls, she knew she could make her escape.

The sound of loud, angry footsteps only pushed her to move faster, to jump higher and to look further.

The assassin realised too late that there was no real escape, not when the whole city had been alerted of who was in their midst, and most certainly not when they knew her face.

They closed in on her just as she got close enough to the walls to make out the gates, and she swallowed her fear as she let her feet slow to a stop.

There was a dozen of them in front of her, and no doubt twice as many behind her.

She had been caught.

She had made one too many mistakes.

 _'The Night Mother would not be pleased.'_

With that last thought, Edna Grey-Fur closed her eyes tightly and surrendered her weapons.


	2. Chapter 2

The cell they put her in was everything to be expected: dark, damp, cold, and quiet, save for the murmur of voices she could hear from the guards, the sound of people rushing about below during the day, and the scampering of pests during the night.

Edna spent a little over a week there, in isolation, but she knew better than to assume that they had forgotten her.

She chanted the names of all the Holds under her breath as she stared blankly at the wall, the way she'd been taught when she was still a child and growing up away from Skyrim.

As a young girl, she had made a game out of it, and Edna found that it calmed her even in the bleakest of situations.

And what a bleak situation it was.

Edna knew, with as much certainty as she knew her own name, that there was little she could do to get herself out of the hole she'd dug for herself. She'd heard enough to know that prison was not to be her punishment. There were whispers of her alliance to the Brotherhood that could not be ignored, and there was also the very public, very obvious execution of the Emperor's cousin at the Nord's hands.

She had not murdered a lover in a fit of rage. She had not murdered a brother or parent over a scrap of land, or a drunkard in a bar fight. No, she had very methodically and intentionally slashed the throat of a woman in a public statement against the Empire, and she had allowed herself to be caught in the act.

Edna scoffed.

How could she have been so incredibly stupid? How could she have strayed so far from what she'd been taught— from what she had taught herself? All of this, over a pair of pretty eyes.

She was an assassin brought to light now, a killer for hire, and she would receive an assassin's punishment.

From the small window in her cell she could just barely make out the main street of Solitude, now deserted and quiet. The execution platform was but a shadow blending in amongst shadows, but she could picture it clearly in her mind.

Even if she somehow managed to escape before they brought her down the following morning, and the chances of that were slim, considering she had no weapon and the number of guards in charge of her was preposterous to say the least —at least, she thought bitterly, they had learned since last time— escaping Solitude would only mean a most painful death at the hands of her sisters and brothers.

She had put her Family in danger, allowing herself to be caught and ruining their plans. Though the Black Brotherhood had meant to regain its recognition, it was never the way Edna let it happen— by failing.

The nails of her right hand dug painfully into her thigh before she let the tension leave her body.

In a way, she was grateful. She had never wished to be Listener any more than she'd wished to answer the call of the Greybeards. She had ended up the former by running from the latter, after all.

With hardened grey eyes, she waited for dawn.

…

…

…

They brought her out when the day was busiest, her body almost crushed between three strong men and one woman, all wearing full helmets and Solitude red over their armour, and though she was fairly tall, Asgeir could not see her until the guards parted.

He had been waiting for this, had thought himself prepared, but his jaw tensed almost painfully as his eyes finally settled on the form of the woman who stole his wife away from him so absurdly.

She was still in the bloodied clothes she'd wore that day, and he felt sick to know that that was Vittoria's blood he was seeing. Her long blond hair shielded her eyes, but Asgir was in the very front —he had waited to look upon the killer who so effortlessly ruined the future he's dreamt of building— and he caught a glimpse of those grey depths. An empty, cold, void— that was what he could see in her eyes.

The executioner ordered her to her knees, and she followed dutifully, kneeling easily before the rectangular stone on which so many others of her kind had laid their heads before, but her neck did not bend. She did not bow her head.

That angered Asgeir more than anything, and as he looked at her their gazes met, a clash he felt physically even meters away. For a second, she seemed surprised to see him, before her lips curled downwards in a half-frown. Her expression, though, revealed neither regret nor anger, only a strange thoughtfulness he did not appreciate.

"Edna Grey-Fur, for committing crimes against Skyrim and her people, in the holds of Haafingar, Hjaalmarch and Falkreath,-"

There were whispered as people gathered to watch with new interest and fear in their eyes, and though she was no longer looking at him, Asgeir's stare stayed focused on her pale face.

"- for the assassination of Vittoria Vici, first cousin to the Emperor Titus Mede II-"

More voices joined in as the crowd looked on with growing agitation.

"- for consorting with Daedra and crimes against the Empire too grave to speak of-"

Shouts and hateful boos sounded loudly behind him.

"-you shall pay with your life."

Captain Aldis, overseer of the execution, signalled for the headsman to proceed, but the woman did not give any indication that she'd heard or seen the exchange except for finally placing her head onto the stone.

She did not look afraid, something that disturbed Asgeir deeply, but he thought that he saw her hands shake before she curled them tightly into her lap.

The headsman lifted the axe surely, shifting his weight only slightly in preparation, and the woman simply closed her eyes and waited for the metal to lodge itself into her neck.

Cheers and bellows rang loudly in Asgeir's ears, and he looked on with a frown at the murderer in her final moments, wondering bitterly how someone who looked so ordinary and harmless could be capable of such evil.

A sudden shout rose over the racket seconds before the axe made contact, calling— ordering loudly— for a halt. Ahtar's grip faltered for a brief moment, but it was enough for the Nord at his feet to roll her head away from where the weapon fell.

"Halt!" The voice shouted again, over the confusion of the crowd. "I have news from Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun Hold-" It said. "-and orders to stop this execution!"

Shouts of outrage could be heard in response, but the crowd parted to let the speaker pass, and Asgeir found himself looking at a battle-ready Dunmer woman bearing the insignia of Whiterun on her armour.

Captain Aldis looked at the new-arrival distrustfully, but ordered his men to stand back and for Ahtar to lower his axe.

"What right does the Jarl of Whiterun has to order the guards of Solitude?" He asked sharply. "If even your claim is true."

The woman did not seem perturbed by the question, simply presenting the captain with a roll of paper with an official sigil at the bottom.  
"Irileth, housecarl to Jarl Balgruuf the Greatest, as you can see." She presented herself rather gruffly. "It is perhaps true that Whiterun has no power over Haafingar, yet this is a matter of dire importance." Her red eyes skimmed over the assassin's form for a brief moment. "Your prisoner is far more important than you believe."

There were more whispers and curses, most of them directed at the Dunmer, but she paid them little mind. Captain Aldis, though, grew further agitated.

"And who, may I pray, is she to make the Jarl of Whiterun send his housecarl to intervene on her behalf?" There was anger and just a hint of disbelief in the man's voice.

The Dunmer let a long-suffering sigh, as if she herself was displeased with the current situation, before she spoke in a flat voice.

"The Dragonborn."

Before she could say more, the earth shook as the monks of High Hrothgar sent forth a second calling, and chaos descended over Solitude.


	3. Chapter 3

To say Edna was surprised to see Irileth, of all people, stepping forward to her rescue was an understatement if there ever was one.

Her dealings with Irileth— and Whiterun as a whole, really— had ceased almost completely shortly after they've taken down the dragon near the watchtower six months previous.

The Dunmer had not seemed to like her back then, and Edna knew for a fact that the woman hated being away from her charge and her duties more than most housecarls. The Nord vaguely wondered how they've convinced her to accept a job in Solitude, of all places, and who had the misfortune of dealing with her anger after that briefing.

There was also the disturbing matter of how the Jarl had known about Edna's execution in the first place. Yes, he knew about Edna being Dragonborn, he had heard the calling and he had a dozen soldiers who probably reported back about how she'd absorbed a dragon's soul, but there was no way that he had kept track of her activities over such a vast extent of time and distance.

Oblivion, but not even Edna herself was exactly certain about what she'd been doing since she'd fled Whiterun.

She'd fallen in with the Brotherhood after doing something stupid, though that was never, ever her intention. She'd often wondered if she would have probably been better off just answering to the damned monks' call and been done with it, but there was little option to go back after she'd sliced the throat of one or another for Astrid. It was much too late for such things.

She should have really known to make a run for it after the crazy jester had made his appearance, but Edna had never been good at knowing when to stop.

 _"Do-vah-kiin!"_

The Shout carried loudly, causing building to shake and ricocheting painfully inside her head long after it died down, and the woman really wished she could just tell the Greybeards to shut it.

She also wanted to know how news of her execution had reached High Hrothgar, damn it, since being popular really was the worst thing to be in her profession.

Well, former profession, most likely— unless they planned on letting her go, which would just be stupid.

It was becoming more and more clear she wasn't cut out for that kind of job anyway, no matter what the Night Mother said.

If the Imperials did let her go, chances were the Brotherhood would just wash their hands of her to not have to deal with having such a disgrace in their ranks.

Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

 _'Not likely.'_ —her realistic side deadpanned.

Still, stranger thing had happened, as the events of the day so far could attest.

"Are you serious?"

The Captain sputtered in time with the starting of shouting and panicking amongst the crowd.

The guards rushed to intervene before anyone could reach the executioner's platform, but Edna doubted that there was much even ten or so guards could do against such a large number of rowdy people. Not for long, anyway.

The confusion at the abrupt interruption of the execution had quickly turned into anger and dismay, and voices rose making demands for her life as well as for her to be let go.

"That's the Dragonborn, y'all idiots, do you want to die?" A particularly shrill voice asked, and Edna wasn't entirely sure it came from a female, followed immediately by an equally loud: "Shut it, milk-drinker, the Dragonborn ain't no murderous slip of a wench."

There was a roar of approval, followed by even louder demands that the murderous wench and the dark-skinned liar be skinned for daring to try fool them.

Edna winced.

She started to wish she hadn't dodged that axe.

Perhaps it wasn't too late to reschedule that appointment. Ahtar certainly looked like he would prefer it like that, while Captain Aldis only seemed to grow more alarmed by the minute. His throat worked furiously as he barked orders for his men to keep everyone away from the prisoner. Next, he dropped rather jerkily to his knees and ordered Ahtar to help him with Edna's cuffs so that they would be able to move her, which the executioner did with so little regard to her bruised hands the skin broke in several places and— oh, wasn't her day just going unbelievably well?

"Captain Aldis, sir-" A guardsman called to the man's back, apprehension and gruffness in his voice, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off as someone finally broke through the formation with an enraged cry.

The same guard managed to catch the man just before he could reach the three people in the middle of the platform, placing a heavy hand on the angry civilian's neck and forcing him to his knees. Using considerable force, the guard held the man down but a few paces' worth of distance from Edna.

Her eyes snapped forward in time with his, and Edna had to fight down her disbelief as she stared back into a pair of burning eyes she remembered too well. Asgeir, she thought his name was.

The groom.

Well, damn, she guessed he really did want her dead, not that she could blame him. She wished she could let him know that it had only been business— killing his wife— but not even she was ignorant enough to think that that would help her case.

The sound of the cuffs snapping open and the shove Aldis so helpfully provided managed to distract her from the pure fury and hate in Asgeir's gaze, but she found herself looking back at him as they pulled her away and more guards came from Castle Dour to deal with the public unrest her hasty departure had only made worse. In spite of her growing unease, Edna kept Asgeir's gaze.

Strange that she would feel compelled to do that, considering that all she really wanted was to erase the picture of him from her mind and get as far away from the man as possible.

There was a strange knot in her stomach when he looked at her with such raw pain and hatred, and had she not thought herself incapable of guilt, Edna could have sworn-

Well… She had killed the man's wife on their wedding day, Edna didn't know what exactly it was she was feeling, but she found it prudent to stay away from him either way.

Aldis and Ahtar's rough handling suddenly stopped being so annoying, if only because it meant they were putting distance between her and Asgeir.

All she wanted in that moment was to get out of there, so of course, that was when the dragon landed in the middle of the market.

She just loved her life.

…

…

…

"Dragon! Divines have mercy!"

At first, Asgeir though that he heard it wrong, but ripping his eyes from the retreating form of the assassin he saw the huge blur of movement in the corner of his eye grow and take the shape of a fierce beast, wings expanded in an impressive show of colour.

The dragon's call was piercing and clear— a challenge spoken in an ancient tongue.

The guard holding him let go of him as he rushed forward with the rest of the guardsmen to cut the beast down, but there were cries of pain before they could even reach it as fire burst from the monster's mouth, melting metal and burning flesh alike.

Asgeir got to his feet shakily, the earth shaking in turn as the dragon took to flight again, its roar a thing of primal power.

"Do-vah-kiin!" It challenged. "Bo, krif zey! I long to test your Thuum!"

The flames devoured market stalls and sent people running towards the safety of the nearest stone building.

There was an unnatural silence as the long, strong body of the dragon rose higher and higher, and the guards on the ground still standing readied their shields and arrows.

The descend that time was even faster, the destruction even greater as flames scorched everything and everyone unfortunate enough to be in the market, and Asgeir had time only to press himself against the nearest stone pillar to ensure that the same fate did not befall him.

Orders were shouted for people to fall back, and amongst them, Irileth's voice snapped at the captain, arguing about something Asgeir could not make out over the sound of his own blood rushing to his ears. Whatever the Dunmer had said, though, Aldis gave a reluctant nod of his head and Asgeir watched in disbelief as the man let go of the woman he'd been trying to drag away only moments ago.

The assassin took an unsure step forward and wordlessly took the bow Irileth offered.

She moved away, towards the dragon, and took in what looked like a deep, steading breath.

There was a shift around her, as if she was drawing power from some unknown source, and when she let out the air in her lungs, he understood why.

 _"Yol Toor!"_

He watched in disbelief as the woman breathed fire— just like…just like...

"…a dragon."

Gods almighty, but he had been a fool to believe making her pay for what she did to Vittoria was going to be easy.

Gods help him, the roaring flames seemed to mock, for ever thinking that things could be easy.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading and don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the story so far!_

 _A._


	4. Chapter 4

The fight was not going well.

Edna's shout had stunned the dragon briefly, but fighting fire with fire did little when it came to their situation.

She had no weapon except a bow and some arrows that Irileth had gave her and nothing to protect her under her ripped and tattered dress, and not for the first time she wished she'd learned magic, even if her parents would have died a second death in Sovngarde if they had ever found out.

When the dragon stopped dangerously close in mid-air, its large shadow blocking the sun from her sight, Edna had the good sense to run for shelter behind the nearest stone structure, her heart beating loudly in her chest from a combination of fear, battle-frenzy and disbelief.

Well, damn— and she had thought that the Brotherhood getting to her would be the worst way to die.

Trying not to think too much about that, she managed to send a few arrows flying, two of which connected, but none did any real damage, and they seemed to only stir the dragon's battlelust more.

The beast roared— the sound almost something she would call a laugh— and burned everything around her to a crisp, several guardsmen included.

The Guards' Captain was on the other side of the market, searching for her with his eyes, and Edna suddenly realised she was cornered on the other side of the square with no more guards to help her and all the ones still alive rushing to the city to deal with the fires.

She rose from her hiding place and stepped forwards to find herself the only one standing in the middle of a circle of black stone and earth, the dragon high above and readying itself to dive down once again.

She'd foolishly let go of the borrowed bow when she'd ducked for cover, she also realised, and with the speed of the terrible monster hunting her, she knew she truly had no chance, even with the power of the Thumm almost in her reach again.

Great, just terrific, she was going to burn to death.

Next time someone offered her an easy way out by way of beheading she promised she would take it, not that it was likely she would have such a chance again.

Not if she died, turned into a pile of smouldering flesh and bone by dragon's fire.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, surely the horrible screams from the burnt guards were exaggerated.

Maybe she could convince the Dragon to eat her instead, preferably without cooking her first.

She was still weighing the advantages and disadvantages of being eaten alive against being burnt alive when she caught a glimpse of gold in her peripheral-vision, and she stood there gaping in disbelief as she looked at what— or better yet who— was only a few meters away from where she'd hidden.

The man might have been a reckless, sentimental, foolish one, but she would admit she was impressed by Asgeir's determination.

If she'd been more like Astrid, she might even have enjoyed seeing someone so set to take a life, even if it was hers.

The Dragon landed heavily somewhere to Edna's left, much too close for comfort once again, and the woman quickly shook any thoughts about Asgeir from her mind.

He was probably going to enjoy watching her be ripped apart, or eaten, or burnt, or any combination of those, but Edna did not want to die and if she wanted to prevent that, she would need all her strength and focus.

…

…

…

On the other side of the market, Captain Aldis did everything he could to keep civilians out of harm's way, but with the fires spreading rapidly from structure to structure, it was a tremendous task, and power of the Voice or not, the assassin woman did not look like much of a match against a dragon.

His men were either dead or helping outside the market, and he realised he could offer her no assistance, no men, no weapons from where he was.

It was then that he saw the man who broke through his men earlier standing relatively close to the so-called Dragonborn and both the sword and shield just a throw of a stone away, by the body of one of his fallen men.

If he could convince him to bring them to the Dragonborn, or maybe even help, maybe they could drive the beast away, even if only for enough time to put out the fires and regroup.

Aldis gave more orders to his men and got as close as he would dare to the burnt-down market with the dragon on ground, catching Asgeir's attention with a wide motion of his arm.

"Help her!" he ordered, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the dragon snarling, not that the giant beast paid any mind to the commotion behind it with his prey so close to his reach.

The golden-haired man only frowned, and the dragon breathed fire again, Edna getting out of the way only just.

Aldis cursed rather loudly and turned on Asgeir with a fierce look in his eyes.

"You go and help her right now, you hear me?"

"That is the murderer of my wife!" Asgeir hissed back, incredulous, making Aldis suddenly recognise him as the groom at the dreadful wedding where all began.

On any other day Aldis might have taken pity on the man, but there was a dragon quite literally chewing down on his city, and he really didn't have time to be considerate.

"People die every day, lad, get a hold of yourself or even more will be eaten by the beast!" He said, rather exasperated, because he was pretty sure he heard several of the new recruits yell for Talos as they came from Castle Dour and caught glimpse of the destruction and the Divines damn dragon, and he just knew the mean-faced Thalmor 'ambassador' had spies everywhere just giddy to have a reason to breathe down his neck.

Hopefully the dragon believed all that crap about Altmer being made out of superior flesh and ate them before they could report to their master.

No, Captain Aldis chastised himself, that was an inappropriate line of thought, and it was not the time to be inappropriate, not with a dragon on their hands.

Or legs.

Or the bodies of half a dozen guards or so.

Divines damn that dragon.

…

…

…

If she had not been certain of the inevitability of her death before, Edna certainly was after she felt the heat of the dragon's breath burning at her back as she ran.

She was almost certain she was already dead, since she could swear she was seeing the groom from the wedding rushing towards the dragon, sword drawn, shield up, another shield and sword on his back.

His battle cry distracted the dragon just enough to save Edna from being truthfully burnt to death, out of stamina as she was from evading the first attack, and she was certain she was dead then, because there was no way he would ever, ever try to help her, the murderer of his young wife.

She was so sure, in fact, that when he rolled away from the dragon and got to Edna's side the assassin did nothing but stare dumbly at his strong back and shoulders as they shook with effort and tension.

"Fight!" He snarled finally, shoving the spare shield and sword so suddenly her way that they almost hit her in the face.

Almost.

She caught them instinctively, their weights unfamiliar but welcome all the same, and she gripped the sword properly and positioned the shield, her body remembering the motions far better than her overwhelmed mind could.

Daggers were swift, quiet, and deadly – an assassin's choice of weapon— but she had been taught to wield a shield and a sword first, and she realised she had missed it.

"You better kill this beast. Dragonborn or not-" Asgeir spat angrily as they drew closer to each other to form a battle formation, a unit. "-I'm still tempted to run you through as it is."

She had lost one of her shoes somewhere along the way, the ends of her hair were burn and brown, and her dressed missed a sleeve and large chunks of fabric in her skirts.

Edna knew herself to look wild and even more so by Asgeir's side, who stood tall like a hero of old, clothes almost untouched by the flames.

Both their shields and swords were the same, though, and he was _helping_ her.

 _He_ was helping _her_.

Had Edna ever doubted the dark sense of humour of certain gods, she would have certainly recognised it then.

With a laugh that probably sounded half-crazed at best, she lifted her shield with his.

When the dragon attached next, they were ready.


	5. Chapter 5

Asgeir Snow-Shod did not admire the arts of war, much more interested in politics and bettering the world through trades and peaceful understandings, but he still prided himself on being strong enough to take care of himself in a battle, as all Snow-Shods always have been.

Still, watching Edna chip at the dragon's head and move around its attacks so easily, he could not help but feel inadequate. The feeling passed quickly, of course, when he remembered her skills were a direct result of what the woman did for a living, and not a testimony to any qualities she might possess.

When she climbed on the back of the beast and finished it off by running her sword through its skull though, he admitted himself impressed. Horrified as well, of course.

The strength and speed with which she moved after she got a weapon, a shield, and a chance to catch her breath was not natural, and in the very moment she lifted up the sword and started to push it through the dragon's skull Asgeir pitied the beast, himself and the whole of Nirn— but himself especially— for having such a woman as the Last Dragonborn, for there was no denying she was a dragon slayer of legend.

The dragon struggled and fought admirably with all his strength, and Asgeir rooted for it in its final moments, because surely if there was anyone or anything that could kill his wife's murderer, it would be such a mighty beast. Only it didn't— it most certainly did not kill her.

If a dragon couldn't do it, that what in the Void was _he_ supposed to do?

She did not stop pushing down the sword until the dragon went completely limp, seemingly unbothered by the warm blood splashing her face— a visual that very much reminded him of Vittoria's final moments— and she slid off the beast's back in a few fast, graceful movements. Good thing she did so as well, because no sooner did her feet touch the ground that the very flesh of the dragon disappeared into thin air in a flash of bright, warm light, leaving only the bones behind to almost collapse under their own weight.

There was a collective gasp of disbelief and awe from the guards left standing, louder than the one earlier, when they saw the assassin actually take down the dragon. It was not until the light converged and seemed to be sucked into the woman's body, encompassing her into an unnatural aura of power, that the worse of the gasping and invocations of all divinities and realms took place, and by that point Asgeir felt very much tempted to join in himself.

It was just his luck that the person who killed his wife just happened to also be the Legendary Dragonborn, prophesised slayer of Alduin, the World Eater.

If he murdered her, he murdered the world.

Just his luck.

…

…

…

She could feel her hands twitching at her side, her legs flexing as if she were preparing to run long and fast, and though her instincts were correct— for yes, she ought to run as fast and as far from the city as possible— she knew there was no real escape. There were eyes on her, watching and judging and staring in awe, and then there were those vivid blue eyes burning with hate, staring through her.

Irileth was by her side before the glow around her got the chance to disperse, scowl in place, and before she knew it there were guards and citizens and even a few children all gathering around Edna, making it hard for her to breathe from all the commotion for once in her life.

It was a little sad, of course, especially since she was supposed to be a master at navigating crowds and keeping a tight rein on her nerves, but she had stopped acting like herself since she'd failed an assassination for the first time.

It all always came back to that: she had made a mistake worse than the lowest brother or sister in the brotherhood, and she had no one to blame but herself and a pair of pretty eyes, for there was no denying that Asgeir's eyes were pretty. To think that she could still think that…

She reasoned she should hate the man who got her in the whole mess to begin with, but she felt strangely ambiguous on the subject.

Chores of 'Dragonborn' and 'Dovahkiin' sounded in the midst of prayers of thanks to the Divines, and the whole matter of her misstep and the Brotherhood stood forgotten as she focused on a much larger beast to tackle.

"The bloody Greybeards were right."

Whoever wrote the book of destiny sure had a twisted sense of humour, because there was no way, no way what-so-ever, that she was hero material.

Letting forth a semi-hysterical laugh that the people around her hopefully mistook for a celebration of her victory over the dragon, Edna spoke darkly under her breath. "We are all bloody _doomed_."

She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard Irileth agree with her as she led them away through the crowd and towards the path to Castle Dour.

…

…

…

The map in the middle of the table looked rather old and worn, several daggers plunged through the paper and into the wood to mark several points of interest, and Edna would have very much preferred she could change places with it, rather than be at the table and having to listen to several other people discussing her fate while she had no say in it in any way. At least then she would be useful, and likely to be put out of her misery soon enough.

There were always new, better maps to be found on the market.

There was only one Dragonborn left. The last one, at that.

Gods help her, but Edna did not feel blessed, or special, or particularly powerful, and of all the stories that her mother used to tell her as a child, she never really liked this one. It was the story without an ending, and Edna had never liked unfinished stories.

She liked it even less knowing that it rested on her shoulders wherever that ending would be good or bad.

Not comfortable retreating into her thoughts, she chose that moment to return her attention to the conversation taking place in front of her.

Jarl Elisif the Fair had been called as soon as the conditions of the city allowed, along with some of her court. General Tullius was an even more important presence at the table though, obvious by the way he seemed to steer the conversation whenever he spoke.

"This is absurd-" Irileth intervened, her deep voice even harsher than normally. "- it is clear that she needs to be taken to the mountain. The Greybeards-"

"The Greybeards may have authority, but she is a prisoner of the Empire." The General argued back, his frown dark enough to compete even against the Dunmer's. "We cannot simply allow a murderer to go free!"

There was a hush over the room, when all eyes again stuck to Edna; she tried not to fidget at the distrust and worry directed at her and mostly succeed.

"Killing her is out of the question, though!" Captain Aldis, unexpectedly, decided to add. "Nor is she useful being locked up in a cell." He crossed his arms over his chest with a small inhale. "We cannot exactly keep her here and let her out when a dragon decides to attack- and what of the prophecy? There is no denying what I saw: She is Dragonborn!"

"I agree." The Jarl spoke over the ensuring chatter. "We should send her to the Greybeards, to her destiny. I doubt us, mere mortals, would do much but put a delay in that design by trying to keep her here." Edna make eye contact with the woman, weary of her words, but knowing them to be true.

"Even if we let her go…" The General started, incredulous. "Do any of you truly trust her to go?" Edna found herself thinking they would be fools to do so, but many-a-men she'd met had been fools. "She would run back to her foul Brotherhood the moment we let her out the door."

More chatter and more arguing, and Edna hoped, somehow foolishly, that they would never reach a conclusion so she could quietly slip away eventually, and the whole saviour business would become a matter of the past.

"Have someone go with her then." A new voice suggested, one she discovered to come from the grey-skinned woman Elisif had brought with her. "Someone from the guard, perhaps."

Edna felt her heart shrink as one by one, the people at the table gave their consent and even went as far as to suggest names of who to accompany her and times for her departure.

It seemed she was going on a quest to save the world after all.

With the stories she grew up with, some would say it was only appropriate. Either way, it was a disaster waiting to happen.


	6. Chapter 6

The Dragonborn was heading for High Hrothgar.

The news hit him like a charging berserker, crushing the air out of his lungs and leaving him dizzy.

Angry as well.

Most definitely angry.

She was a murderer! A fire-breathing, gods-blessed murderer, but a murderer all the same.

And they had let her go.

The city was abuzz with rumours and questions at the appearance of the hero of legend, prophesised to be the last of her kind, and it was too much.

It was too much to have to hear them praise and put hope into the killer of his wife, but most of all, it was too much that the monster had found a way to have everyone dismiss Vittoria's death. It was as if one woman's life didn't matter enough in lights of new events, and it saddened Asgeir as much as it made him feel murderous.

Asgeir never considered himself a violent man.

He had always tried to use brute strength only as a last resort—and as a testimony to that, he had to suffer his father's bland disapproval and claims that he was too soft of a man—but if he were to see the Dragonborn that very moment he didn't know what he would do. His whole body tensed only at the thought of it, and the pure rage he felt scared him.

Yes, he never thought himself a violent man, always an advocate for diplomacy, but Asgeir never thought he'd lose his wife on his wedding day either.

Thinking of Vittoria hurt.

There was an ache in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore in the weeks since the wedding, afraid to acknowledge it.

He ached for what could have been, the plans they had and the late conversation they'd shared in front of the hearth. They've talked of many things on the rare occasions when they've had a night for themselves: a house in Solitude just for the two of them, nights spent in companionship, growing together and being better and stronger for it…

Creating the strongest, most prosperous trading business in all of Skyrim and proving once and for all that working together—be them Nords or Imperial or Mer—was the better option. _The future._

They had dreamt such a brilliant life together.

Asgeir knew better than to claim his and Vittoria's relationship to be based first of all on love, but they have had so much in common. It wasn't conventional, it wasn't a love-match, but there had been affection, respect and perfect mutual understanding to their arrangement.

They both wanted to move things forwards, for a better Skyrim and more profitable business, and what better way than to show a united front? What better way than marriage?

Neither of them had been at all opposed to the idea.

Vittoria had been beautiful, intelligent and so driven, and Asgeir had loved her even if he hadn't been in love with her. Given time, he was sure getting there would have been easy for the both of them—merely a natural step in their lives—, and the halls of their home might have sounded with the footsteps of children with Vittoria's bronze skin and his golden hair.

A deep bitterness fell over him just thinking back on it, the images of what would never be a cruel, vivid taunt.

Compared to the heaviness of that, he supposed the anger was easier to bear.

"You're awfully quiet, friend, everything alright?"

Asgeir had been staying at The Winking Skeever since a few days before the wedding, so he wasn't particularly surprised that the innkeeper had noticed his mood.

There wasn't much to say about Corpulus Vinius aside from the fact that he always talked of retirement and he took pleasure in gathering rumours as much as he did spreading them.

With all the agitation with the Dragonborn, Asgeir wasn't surprised that the Imperial seemed cheerier than usual, but it only made the younger man feel worse.

It all always came back to that gods-damned assassin.

The wretched woman had everyone praising her name, and Asgeir could not help but wonder why it was so hard to escape her.

He could only imagine what gods he'd angered to deserve what he'd been through because of her.

The Nord took a long swig of his ale tankard and turned to face Corpulus with a tired smile—he deserved at least that.

The older man had been very accommodating over the past two weeks, even if Asgeir was only supposed to rent his room at the inn for three days when he first came in. Of course, the initial plan was to move in with Vittoria after the wedding, and it was safe to say that that did not happen.

Asgeir hadn't even found the will to look at the house after everything that happened, and he doubted he ever would.

Vittoria was dead and he didn't want to be reminded of it by her absence in her own home.

"I'm having a worst day than usually." His voice was throatier than normally as well, but Asgeir blamed it on disuse.

He hadn't felt very chatty as of late, understandably.

"I cannot believe they're letting her go." He choked out, and he watched Corpulus' eyes grow wide as he realised what was going on.

"By the Eight, lad, of course you're upset!" The Imperial swore quietly under his breath and promptly slammed the bottle of ale in his hand on the table.

There was a loud sound that startled Asgeir, and he looked up from his seat at the innkeeper with furrowed brows.

"On the house, friend—Vittoria was a fine woman, and we'll all miss her." Normally, hearing the barkeep say that about one's wife wouldn't be very comforting, but Asgeir appreciated the gesture.

"Thank you, friend." With an appreciative sigh, he poured himself more ale.

The Dragonborn was going to be paraded out of town in only a few short hours, and another drink would likely help get him through it.

"May the World Eater crush her bones into powder." He toasted silently, and drank.

…

…

…

Edna paced the inside of her cell with purpose, her expression blank except for the twitch of her upper lip every-so-often.

For someone watching from the outside, she might have seemed intimidating, even frightening – especially if they knew who exactly the woman was—but to anyone with a keen enough eye, her own nerves would be obvious.

The seriousness of her situation did not escape her, and neither did the implications of the fact that she'd been publicly acknowledged as the Last Dragonborn.

Of all the titles Edna might have coveted, that was the last one to make it on the list—and it was only on the list in the first place as a joke! A joke, really, so why was it happening to her?

Was she not such a cautious soul, she would have cursed all Gods, Aedra and Daedra she knew or even vaguely heard of.

Whatever thoughts she'd had of returning to the Brotherhood before, she knew with a grim sense of finality that all ties would likely be cut now.

She was too visible—too much of a public figure— and it could only end badly for her.

Them trying to eliminate her was still a very big possibility, but somehow she was relieved she would no longer have to join the Night Mother in her coffin anymore. She had never actually thought the Night Mother to be real when she was more-or-less scared witless into joining by Astrid, or that the Brotherhood was indeed intimately linked to the Dread Father, and in a way she still wished she didn't.

Knowing her soul belonged to the Void was not a comforting thought.

Considering that the Dragonborn's soul was allegedly that of a dragon, and dragons were children of Akatosh, she wondered exactly how the whole ownership thing worked.

She was spared the headache of pondering that, thankfully, by the door to her cell being pushed open, and several Solitude Guards stared at her from behind the cold steel of their masks.

"Your escort has arrived." One of them informed her, and she tried not to let her worry show on her face as she followed them out into the open.

Between the Brotherhood's response, the fact that she was going to be dragged up the tallest mountain in Skyrim against her will to meet with a reclusive sect of monks who could tear her apart using words, and dragons—yes, fricking dragons, Gods have mercy on them all—, she had plenty of reasons to be nervous.

There was more to her worry than that, though.

It was the responsibility of being the Last Dragonborn; in all her twenty-three winters she'd never thought she'd be responsible for anyone but herself, yet suddenly the very existence of Nirn rested on her shoulders.

It was a joke.

It had to be, because otherwise…

Edna had failed at crossing the border into Skyrim, she had failed working as a mercenary after one impressive week, and she had failed being an assassin.

She really did not want to know just how much bigger she could go with screwing things up.

The sun stung her eyes as she saw the outside for the first time in two days, and she steadied herself on her feet. Big things were just starting to be set in motion, and she dreaded every moment of it. Most of the same people that were at the meeting to decide her fate a couple of days ago greeted her as she stepped outside, but there were a few new faces that she didn't recognise.

At least, she thought watching the faces of all gathered around her, she didn't look to be the only one dreading what was about to happen.

"Dragonborn." The Jarl greeted solemnly. "I trust that you are ready for your journey?"

 _'Dragonborn'_ , indeed—the sound of it still made her want to cringe. She supposed she would have to get used to it.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Edna answered warily, but the Jarl smiled nevertheless.

"Then allow me to introduce you to your companion on your journey." And with a delicate motion of her hand, the Jarl pointed towards someone in the small gathering.

One person stepped forward: blonde, young, and not at all what Edna had expected.

"Dragongborn." They spoke. "I am Jordis the Sword-Maiden, Housecarl of Solitude. I have been assigned to make sure you make the journey to High Hrothgar."

* * *

 _Don't forget to review!_


	7. Chapter 7

It became obvious to Edna, soon after reaching the Throat of the World, that the Greybeards were insane.

And, surprisingly, it wasn't even about the fact that they chose to live on the highest and most inhospitable peak not only in Skyrim, but in the whole of Tamriel.

In fact, it wasn't even about how only one of them was physically able to have a conversation without the risk of killing someone. And it was not their unshakable composure either, though just being exposed to it made her skin crawl.

What it was about, was the fact that they had asked Edna to visit them in their cosy, freezing, highly-inaccessible prison only to offer her a day or so of training, some cryptic and discouraging information, and reassurance that she was indeed as far away from what she was supposed to be as she'd thought.

Oh, but that was fine, really, as it was perfectly alright for the Dragonborn to fail, as long as they didn't mind allowing the end of everything and everyone to happen.

So there Edna found herself, trudging the long and perilous road back down the mountain, with nothing to show for having made the trip other than a sore throat—both from training with the monks and the cuttingly cold air—and some vague instructions as to where she was supposed to go next.

Jordis, who'd dropped the stoic and indifferent mask soon after the reality of climbing the Seven Thousand Steps hit them in the face, at least had the decency to look at the assassin with the worry appropriate to the situation.

"They're not in their right minds." The Dragonborn muttered, mostly to herself, making a disturbed— if not disturbing— face.

"Dragonborn?" Now, the worry in Jordis' voice was bordering on outright alarm, and under other circumstances Edna might have found it amusing.

Amusing indeed, the kind of fierce, menacing guard Jordis had turned out to be.

"Should we set forth, Dragonborn?"

Edna took in a long, steadying breath—ignoring the pain it caused—and gave a shaky nod.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Supposedly, they needed to go and retrieve some artifact or other from some Nordic tomb, and then do the trip right back.

Fricking-damned-great, what could she say.

Taking the first step onwards, Edna told herself not to panic.

Sure, she'd been recognised as the one-and-only Dragonborn despite all her hopes it'd all turn out to be a big misunderstanding and she had no idea how to get to the place she was going to, but at least climbing down the mountain was not likely to get her any more lost than she already was.

She promised herself to stop by a shop and get a map as soon as they got back, but first she made sure to ask her companion for the name of their destination.

She hoped to all Aedra and Daedra that Jordis at least had memorised the name of the tomb, because Edna sure as Oblivion didn't.

"Ustengrav, Dragonborn."

Right, that was the name.

Gods help them all.

"Ustengrav." Edna tested it out, but despite her mother's insistences that even the mention of their heritage should make warmth seep into her bones, the name sparked nothing in her chest.

Too-fricking-bad, really, since even with her natural resistance to cold she was shivering in her stupid leather armour like a leaf in the wind.

…

…

…

Asgeir's home back in Riften felt very much different from his room in Solitude, but in a way, it was not much better.

Really, there were few things that could make him feel better left, now that he had lost someone else close to him so absurdly.

It had been different when his sister died. He had had time to adjust, to mourn, but most importantly, he had seen it coming.

Different too was the way his parents took the news.

While his brother's fury had been burning and loud after they lost Lilija, he said little to nothing when he heard about Vittoria. His mother's sad, consoling smile was nothing compared to the misery that had kept her away from home when her daughter was lost. His father, so bitter and vengeful over the death of his sister, simply wrote Vittoria's death off as just another plot concocted by the Imperials to discredit the Stormcloaks.

There was nothing to cling to for support at home, not when his family could not see past their own tragedies.

Asgeir supposed they all needed someone to blame for their misfortune, though considering what was taken from them, he just found it excessive—unfair, unhealthy, even—to place the fault with the entirety of the Empire for something mere men had done.

Or one woman, as was his case.

It was tempting, though, he well knew that.

The image of the assassin's stony, pale face was burnt for eternity in the back of his mind, alongside his bride's even paler one as she laid broken on the ground.

The Dragonborn—the mighty saviour—and hero of Nordic tales, yet the real woman was nothing but a snake with empty grey eyes. It set the hair on the back of his neck on end.

"Is it true, then?" His father started to ask just a week after his return home. "Is the Dragonborn truly a Nord?" The interest in the old man's voice was sickening. As if the Dragonborn being a Nord would change anything—as if it would matter more than her being a killer.

"Yes." Asgeir answered, flatly. "She is."

"Good." Spoken in such a sure voice, with such satisfaction, Asgeir turned his head away from the sound of it.

He had to grit his teeth together to stop himself from reacting.

…

…

…

The world went on, like it always did. Were it not for the dark shadows roaming the skies in the distance, or the darker void in his chest, Asgeir might have been tempted to fool himself into believing nothing had changed.

Yet there was no escaping the truth, no matter how much he buried himself in his work, how the days passed one by one and stretched into weeks, or how the people and the sights remained the same.

Especially in Riften, there was always talk—about the Greybeards, about the kills, about the dragons—and all was centred around her.

The Dragonborn would not leave his life as easily as she'd taken it by storm. The opposite, really, as he would hear her name whispered even by old Edda as she wandered by the marketplace.

He tried —and even succeeded for a while—not to hear, but the talk reached him shortly, despite his efforts.

"The Dragonborn was seen climbing the steps a week or so ago."

It was Asbjorn—the blacksmith's apprentice—who said it, just as Asgeir happened to stop by the smithy to pick up an order from Balimund.

"Two blonde women were seen going through Ivarstead recently. There was talk that The Dragonborn was the smaller one of them." Asgeir did not know where the man heard it, and knew even less why he'd stopped to chat about it in the middle of the day instead of working, yet his feet refused to move and take him away and out of earshot of their conversation.

"Don't know what to say to that."

"They say she's not what you'd expect." Whoever Asbjorn was talking to said, seemingly in agreement.

"Heard she was almost beheaded for murder."

"Good thing she's the Dragonborn, then, ain't it?" Asbjorn said with a snort, and Asgeir felt sick to his stomach. "It comes with a certain amount of leeway."

It was as much as Asgeir could bear to hear, and he left without waiting for Balimund to come back.

* * *

 _ **Thank you all for the amazing reviews and support, it really means the world to me!**_

 _(And for those of you wondering what will happen now that Edna is on her quest to save the world, don't worry: Edna and Asgeir will have no direct contact for another chapter or so, but they won't be able to avoid each other for much longer.)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Here's Chapter 8._

 _Reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated (even if you only mean to let me know I need to really stop falling off the face of the Earth for weeks on end)._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

"You've got to be bloody kidding me…" The blonde exhaled, eyes scanning the room in case she'd missed something.

Bloody thieves, this was just what she was missing to complete her day.

"Dragonborn, did you find the Horn?"

Edna took a deep, calming breath; not that it helped any.

"Someone took it." She finally answered, lips pursed, and crumpled the piece of paper left behind by the thief tightly in her fist.

"What do you mean someone took it? Are you sure?" Ahh, Edna wished she wasn't.

"It's gone, Jordis. Wrap up here…" She gestured to the rest of the valuable they found, ignoring Jordis sour look at being ordered around. "We need to get to Riverwood."

"Dragonborn, you do realise I am not really your housecarl, yes?" The pretty swordmaiden commented, but moved to do as she was told anyway.

Edna shrugged and put away her sword.

"The sooner we finish this absurd quest, the sooner we part ways. Tell me you won't do your damnedest to get rid of me." The Dragonborn challenged, a thin smile on her pale lips.

Gods knew that Edna had been tempted on more than a few occasions to just stab her companion in the back and get away from all of it sooner rather than later. It was mostly the realisation that she would still be hunted down even if she did get rid of Jordis that stayed Edna's hand.

Well, that and the fact that there really was no way she could ignore her responsibilities anymore if the whole world was at stake, no matter how much Edna wanted to.

Jordis, somehow surprisingly, hesitated to agree.

"What?" Edna's brows furrowed. "You cannot tell me you've enjoyed our little trip. I'm a bloody murderer, Jordis. The only reason you are here is because I cannot be trusted to do the right thing on my own."

Well, that might have come out more bitter than Edna had meant it to sound, but it was true nevertheless.

"I don't know." Jordis answered, not really lifting her gaze from her hands as she added some gold coins to her purse. "You may be the furthest thing from a moral model, assassin, but you are still the Dragonborn." She tilted her head up slightly, pushing her golden hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Whatever you were in your past, you have a destiny far greater than that now. You are a hero from the stories Nords grew up on, the only one that can defend the World Eater himself, here in the flesh." She smiled briefly up at Edna. "Some would think it an honour just to have met you, let alone to be allowed to help in your quest."

A strange uneasiness settled over Edna at the unexpected response, and she tried to distract herself from it by hurriedly jumping in to help in picking the room clean of treasure.

"An honour, right." She murmured, and swallowed the sudden lump that settled in her throat. "That's a new one."

Damned housecarl, making Edna feel incredibly guilty for all the times she'd fantasised about killing her and crossing the border back to Cyrodiil.

…

…

…

Asgeir had expected the Greybeards to train the Dragonborn. He had expected the woman to spend at least a few weeks under the careful eyes of the monks. He had expected the Holds to be safe from her for at least a little while.

Clearly, all those rumours about the monks' wisdom were exaggerated, since there was no way in Oblivion that letting the Dragonborn roam free could be called wise, and yet that was exactly what they did.

Asgeir would have very much liked to know what they were thinking when they made that decision. How could they possibly deliberately set the woman loose into the world?

He wouldn't have been surprised if the witch had gotten rid of her guard and made herself lost in the vastness of Skyrim, already back to her murdering ways. The very thought of it made his hair stand on end.

She was somewhere out there that very moment, at best accompanied by one housecarl to watch over her, hopefully doing her duty as Dragonborn. No way to know that for sure, of course; they just had to hope that that was what she was doing, instead of gods knew what else.

The Greybeards were bloody insane to have put so much trust in an assassin, and now there was no way to keep track of her movements, as she was long gone from High Hrothgar.

Well…maybe there was a way.

He could have her followed.

He suppose it could be done, if he wanted it to.

Working with Maven, he certainly had the connections necessary for that sort of thing. It would be… almost easy: one favour there, a bit of gold here, and he wouldn't have to worry his conscience with thoughts of who else the Dragonborn would bring pain to.

It was an appealing idea; he was certainly tempted.

Still, it was very unlike Asgeir to resort to such subterfuge. While his business partner might have had no problem with such schemes, Asgeir was a businessman at heart; he dealt in profit and honest deals, and had no interest in letting go of his principles because of the one woman he hated most in the world at that moment.

Then again, this did not involve his business, did it? It was reasonable to feel concern over the assassin's actions, and it was not as if he would hire thugs to go after the Dragonborn—not that that was not also tempting.

Surely, one visit to Maven would not do any harm to anyone? And if by the end of it Maven did decide to send one of her contacts to check in on how the great hero was progressing in her quest, was that really such a bad thing?

…

…

…

Edna sighed, pressing her boot harder into dead man's chest, and was silently grateful for Jordis still following her around like an Imperial guard-dog. Without the housecarl, the woman wasn't so sure it would have been such an easy fight, especially since it was not simple bandits that attacked them, but trained killers.

Three men wearing the Brotherhood's armour ambushed them on the road to Riverwood.

While Edna had expected such a response from her former 'Family', she had not thought it would happen quite so soon.

Well, at least she didn't have to wonder about if she still had to report back to the Sanctuary any time soon—oh, she could just imagine explaining that one to Jordis, or Jordis' presence to the Brotherhood— as she was clearly not welcome back anymore.

And people said you couldn't get out of the Brotherhood.

Edna tried not to think too hard about the fact that now she had to worry about assassination attempts as well as dragons. Add to that the fact that someone had stolen the damned Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from the tomb she was supposed to retrieve it from, and Edna's bad mood was perfectly understandable. The Nord chose instead to focus on reaching Riverwood, where at least the last thing on her list of problems would be dealt with.

Someone owed her some explanations for the fact that she'd fought through a draugr-infested ruin for a bloody note. Edna was starting to wonder what she did to really deserve all the things being thrown at her lately, but it didn't take too long to remember.

"Ah, right. The murders."

She cringed.

Well, she supposed it could have been worse.


	9. Chapter 9

Maven Black-Briar was a resourceful woman, that much had always been true.

She was also acutely aware of the value of information, which meant that she was fully briefed about her young business partner's concerns as of late. Naturally, she was also more than clever enough to expect that Asgeir will speak about those concerns with her, sooner or later.

Yet, while Asgeir's request to meet with her on a fine Mondas day did not surprise her, it did bring a slight sense of satisfaction; not as much because she had once again been right in her thinking, but because she had always looked forward to a chance to corrupt her scrupulous associate in some way or another.

It both amused and vexed Maven that she had managed to become partners with one of the few clean businessmen left in Riften. If she were truthful, she did like Asgeir despite that, if not because of that. There was no denying the fact that men that had no dirt on them were much harder to control than she preferred her associates to be, though.

Taking that into account, there was no real hesitation to agree on Maven's part when Asgeir asked her to have the Dragonborn followed.

"You will help, then?" Asgeir, ever the cautious one, asked for confirmation.

"I don't see why not." Maven said dismissively. "It is only a matter of time before I myself might cross paths with this Dragonborn after all, and there's no harm in being well-informed." None indeed, especially if what she already heard about the woman – that she was dangerous and completely untethered— was true.

Asgeir nodded, though Maven could tell the man was still far from comfortable with what they were doing.

"Maul will make sure you receive regular updates after I make the arrangement. I suggest you go on with your day, Asgeir. I will handle everything."

The blonde nodded again, looking relieved despite his worry, and bid his leave.

…

…

…

Sylion Bluemire had worked for the Black-Briar family many times before, odds jobs here and there, in and outside Riften.

He had worked as a courier for a good part of his twenties; usually legal work –delivering inheritance notices and the like— but he'd gotten into the habit of helping himself to some of the gold or valuable that would often be in his possession. He never took more than a few septims, smart enough to know better, and he never touched anything if it was mentioned down in the deeds. Even so, it had not been long before the company got word of his attics.

He blamed his own inability to keep his mouth shut after he'd had a few, but he blamed Uldin first of all. He should have known the filthy Nord would rat him out.

The company hired another Bosmer half his age, had Sylion show him the ropes, and then booted Sylion out. Those bastards.

Arses, the lot of them.

In the spring of his thirtieth year, he was out of a job and he could already envision a future for himself as a regular at some shabby inn somewhere.

He was no one of particular importance, just another soul doomed to a meaningless life. Not even his crimes were ever grave enough for the guards to take notice. He was, plainly put, no one, and going nowhere fast.

That's when Maul came in, offering him good money for a simple delivery.

Why they couldn't use the regular couriers for that, or what was in the strange package, Sylion never asked. He was in desperate need for gold, and he'd learnt his lesson about meddling with his clients' possessions.

Clearly, his employers approved of his decision, and offers of work kept coming in after that.

Maven had need of people with few future prospects, and he came with the added bonus of being quick on his feet and painfully unremarkable. Sylion never thought he'd ever be grateful for that, of all things.

Work for Maven was good, in any case. It was quick, it was easy, and, best of all, it paid well, so of course he didn't think long before agreeing to the woman's latest request.

He'd heard tales of the supposed return of the Dragonborn, but even as a Skyrim-born Bosmer, he never really cared for Nord legends. Still, he was curious enough, and though he'd also heard about the history of the actual woman who was thought to be the hero of the old legends, he didn't think that tailing her would be that difficult. Surely, the rumours were exaggerated.

Later, when his task led him from Whiterun to Windhelm, to the Throat of the World, and then to Solitude, he'd learn the importance of asking question before taking jobs, be it at the risk of annoying Maul or not.

…

…

…

Edna did not get dragons for a couple of reasons: they could be bloody slow in battle, despite being huge, deadly, flying lizards with control over the elements, and they were chatty, of all things.

Come to think about it, there was probably a connection there. It was likely the creatures' insistence that they converse before each battle, thus drawing out the time before they actually made an effort to kill Edna, that lead to their eventual doom.

Now, Edna wasn't saying that dragons were too easy to kill. Gods no! But what she was saying was that, were she a dragon, she wouldn't give her opponent the time to prepare for combat. There were more efficient ways of starting a fight, honestly.

Still, she wasn't going to point that out to any dragon she fought, especially after she found out that there was a chance that they might not stay dead for long, if what the old Blade she met at the inn in Riverwood told her was true.

As if dragons were not bad enough, they might be facing undead or, even worse, undying dragons.

Edna comforted herself with the knowledge that it was likely that the dragons whose souls she absorbed—ate, devoured? gods that sounded bad—were dead for good. Edna didn't know much about souls and enchantments, but she was pretty sure even Alduin would have troubles raising his dragons back to life when their souls were missing.

Right, it just meant that she was the only one on Nirn capable of actually killing the growing number of fire-breathing monsters awakened by the World-Eater. At best, she would be able to eradicate a few dozens of them before she died of old age.

Had she not already said they were doomed? That she was not fit for the task of defeating the World-Eater? Did she not tell the Greybeards that she did not want the job?

Why did she have to come to bloody Skyrim?

This was a disaster.

"This is it, Kynesgrove. The Dragon Burial Ground is not far from here." Delphine commented, just as they entered the small town where the Blade suspected the next dragons will be raised from.

In the distance, a dragon's dark shadow was already looming in the sky.

Delphine's eyes widened as she saw it, and Edna saw Jordis's hands tighten around her sword.

To her credit, the swordmaiden did not falter in her step, even though it was only her second time seeing such a beast.

The closer they got to the Burial Grounds, the more evident it also became that the dragon in question was the biggest one yet, and Edna felt a small shiver go up her spine as she recognised it as Alduin himself.

"Lorkhan's eyes! Look at that big bastard!" Delphine exclaimed with a hint of trepidation, likely suspecting what Edna already knew. "Keep your heads down, let's see what it does."

Edna nodded, swallowed down her nerves, and prepared herself for a possibly fatal encounter with the World-Eater. At least there was plenty snow around in case he set her on fire.

Wouldn't that be something to sing about? The Last Dragonborn, rolling around in the snow after the World-Eater set her on fire.

…

…

…

A few days later, a letter arrived for Asgeir through one of Maven's workhands. It was a small piece of paper, folded in four, with the report Maven's spy—or whatever he was— sent.

Paying no mind to the usual formalities at the beginning and end of the letter, the only fragment the Nord was really interested in read as followed:

 _'Caught up with the Dragonborn near a small settlement south of Windhelm. Waited outside the town for a while, tailing the Nord woman and the other two women with her from a distance. Observed strange shadows in the sky. Did not approach.'_ The next sentence was scratched out, but still visible. _'If I didn't know better, I'd think it looked like a dragon.'_

Another two or three words followed, crossed off as well; those, he could not decipher.

 _'The town itself shows signs of having withstood an attack, and from what I gathered there is some sort of commotion in the mountains nearby. The Dragonborn and her companions seem to be involved._

 _They— There are…_

 _I…holy…_

 _Divines, there's fire in the sky, and ice, and something is roaring—'_ The next few lines were to shaky to make out, but the final ones were much more composed, and they send a chill down Asgeir's spine.

 _'It was a dragon._

 _She shouted it dead.'_

* * *

 _There, another one. Thinks are moving slowly, I know, but our two heroes should meet up next chapter. :)_

 _Until then,_

 _Thank you for reading!_


	10. Chapter 10

_And here it is guys, **as promised, they meet again.**_

 _Have fun reading! *wink*_

* * *

The snippets of information that came in the next three weeks were rather uninformative, mere updates about where the Dragonborn had been at one particular time, but Asgeir found that even just knowing that helped put him mind at ease.

Surely, if the woman had massacred a village, there would have been a lengthy letter sent to Riften, not just lists of dates and places.

Still, three weeks of receiving news on scraps of paper felt like a lot of time. An incredibly long amount of time, really.

Obviously, Maven agreed, as it was around that time that she moved in to collect for the help she'd offered; Asgeir was not at all surprised when word reached him that the woman wanted to see him about a favour.

The first thing Asgeir learnt from working with Maven was that there was no such thing as a too-good deal. Sooner or later—with a large tendency towards sooner— the bill for every grain, bottle or advantage won would come due, and it would always be costlier than originally thought.

Nothing was free, and especially not when Maven was involved.

"I need you to go to Solitude." She simply said, looking rather bored, though Asgeir did not doubt the woman was perfectly aware of the fact that Solitude was the last place he wanted to be. It was not four months since the murder of his wife, after all.

Still, bothersome as the request was, it was a step up from illegal and immoral –and he had been expecting both—, so Asgeir didn't immediately protest when he heard what Maven wanted of him.

"Solitude?" He simply inquired. "What for?"

Maven looked at him with her sharp eyes and tilted her head. "I have been invited at a reception held by the Thalmor ambassador in Skyrim." She said, as if it was nothing of great importance. "I want you to go in my place."

The man's brows furrowed at the mention of the Thalmor, not a group he particularly wanted to be involved with, and vaguely wondered why Maven would want to send him to attend such a thing.

Unable to help himself, he asked just that, at which a hint of annoyance crossed Maven's features.

"My idiot of a son created a mess I need to solve, which means I cannot afford to be out of Riften right now." Her lips curled into a fierce smile. "I want you to be my eyes and ears; keep me informed. Information is precious, after all, you know that." She spoke in a tone that made it quite clear she was not speaking generally; it was quite a shameless reminder of the information she herself got out of her way to obtain for him.

Asgeir graciously bowed his head in acknowledgement and smiled tightly back. He had never been foolish enough to believe Maven had agreed to help him with the Dragonborn situation out of the goodness of her much-disputed heart, anyway, and he was a man who did not shy away from paying his dues.

"When should I leave?"

The woman leaned forward in her chair and motioned for one servant to refill her wine cup.

Not looking back at Asgeir, she spoke dismissively.

"Now."

…

…

…

Two days later, with Asgeir likely almost in Solitude, Maven received the latest update regarding the Dragonborn's movements.

 _'14th of Sun's Height, 6th day in Whiterun_

 _I overheard the Dragonborn trying to persuade the carriage driver outside Whiterun to take her and her companion to Solitude for a hefty sum. The persuasion was unsuccessful, but it is safe to assume we now know the woman's next likely destination._

 _Reasons for departure unclear; will look more into it._

 _S.B.'_

The Black-Briar matriarch raised a brow, her interest peaked, especially when she read over the infamous assassin's intentions to visit the capital city.

Well, that was an interesting development.

Had the Gods been kinder, the letter would have reached Riften before Asgeir accepted the invitation to the reception, Maven mused with an amused smile.

Luckily for Maven, gods were rarely kind.

Privately, she wondered if they were cruel enough to make it so that her young partner's path and that of the dubious Dragonborn would actually cross, and thought it possible.

"Interesting indeed." She concluded, and found herself eagerly awaiting Asgeir's return.

…

…

…

 _Fancy. Thalmor. Reception._

Of all the foul things in the world, Edna had never thought she would have to deal with those three at the same time, yet Delphine had been very specific about what their next move would involve.

And that was how the failed assassin found herself having once again infiltrated a party donned in a dress far too expensive and ornate for her tastes, and memories of how the last time she did that turned out in the forefront of her mind.

Getting in was easy, but that seemed to always be the case lately. It was the getting out part Edna was worried about. Elenwen, the Thalmor ambassador herself, greeted her graciously at the door, but Edna could tell that her vague answers to the mer's questions were suspicious.

The ambassador would be keeping an eye on the young Nord, that was certain.

Not good, not good at all; Edna would need to create some sort of distraction in order to slip away from the party. First things first, though, she needed to find that Bosmer and tel-

Her throat closed and her whole body froze as her eyes, until then furiously casing the room, fell onto a familiar face. A face which, upon noticing her look at him, twisted into an expression of utter disbelief and horror, which probably matched her own quite well at that moment.

Something along the lines of _'Surely, I am seeing things.'_ , might have been deduced from such an expression. _'The Gods could not hate me that much, could they?'_

Time seemed to stand still for a long while, and the memory of the balcony and the one biggest mistake in her career as an assassin played out in front of Edna.

 _Him._

It was always him. Why was it that he was the only one capable of making her stumble? She never even exchanged a word with the man, but his face was burnt in her memory—as, she suspected, was hers in his—, tied together with that horrific experience at his wedding.

Recognition and remembrance flashed across his face, and hate followed.

The man schooled his features into an implacable, unmovable mask of calmness. It did not fool Edna one bit, of course, as she could read the deadly intent in his stormy eyes. The same electric, flickering blue eyes which had led her astray once before.

And to further prove that the Gods ready did hate her that much, Elenwen, who had momentarily been distracted by a new arrival, choose that moment to remember her suspicions guest. She must have read something in the silent exchange between the assassin and the other Nord, and her smile sharpened as she re-joined the room.

Time moved back into gear with unforgivable speed.

With a sort of calculated precision, the high elf joined Edna's side and effortlessly dragged the slightly smaller woman further into the room, coming to a halt mere paces from the stone-faced Asgeir. The Dragonborn had no chance to protest and no option but to look at him.

Up close, his hair looked even finer than she remembered it, and his stature so much more impressive.

"Asgeir Snow-Shod,-" The ambassador spoke in a sickingly pleasant tone. "It is such a shame Maven couldn't make it, but what a pleasure to have you here." The altmer's eyes flicked briefly to the Nord woman at her side, and Edna's heart sunk in her chest as she realised what was about to happen.

"Perhaps you could tell me more about my lovely guest here." The Thalmor said, her smile deadly sharp. "She's not much of a talker, this one, but I can tell that the two of you know each other."

In what Edna estimated to be one of her final moments, she cursed Delphine to the Void and back.


	11. Chapter 11

Had Asgeir only ever seen the Dragonborn on the execution platform in the Solitude square, he might have been able to fool himself into believing that the pretty, blonde Nord in the rather ornate blue dress simply had the misfortune of resembling the vile assassin who killed Vittoria. On the platform, with her hair wild and matted, and the blood on her fine clothes, it had been so much easier to see only her monstrous nature, and not her human face.

As it was, he had seen the woman both in and out of her careful disguises, and it was impossible to delude himself that this person, the perfect picture of a harmless noblewoman, was anything but the monster he knew her to be.

His first instinct was to put his hands around her neck and squeeze.

His self-restraint was sorely tested for those first brief moments while the ambassador spoke, and part of him wished his usual level-headedness had failed him for once. No such luck.

Asgeir stood motionlessly as Elenwen held the murderous Dragonborn in front of him, the woman's face giving away her growing distress at this turn of events. The primal side of him roared with satisfaction to see her react in such a way, and he supposed the realisation that the assassin feared him placated Asgeir enough that he did not give in to his anger.

Once the haze of violence had passed, it didn't take long for the businessman to realise just in what sort of position the Dragonborn—Edna, how could one so wretched have such an ordinary name?— had actually gotten herself in, or the power he now had over her. The Thalmor ambassador was suspicious of the woman's identity and reasons for attending the reception, that was plainly obvious, and it was quite likely that what Asgeir decided to divulge about who she really was might have a decisive impact on whether or not she would spend the night in a Thalmor prison.

Edna herself knew it too and, smiling with panic showing in her eyes, she made attempts to save her skin. "This is the first time I've met this man." She said, and Asgeir noted that her voice was much softer and sweeter than what he expected—then again, he imagined that any and all aspects of her would be harsh and twisted, and so he'd expected a gruff and unmelodious voice. "I'm sure I would have remembered if I had." Her eyes flickered around the room, as if she were looking for an escape, but she avoided his direction a bit too obviously, something the ambassador certainly noticed.

Again, the first thing his instincts demanded was that he hurt her, that he tell Elenwen everything; just tell the Altmer that this woman was the Last Dragonborn, a convicted criminal, a murderer, and that she had, no doubt, escaped from the Empire's custody and was again up to no good.

He needed mention even half of those things and swords would be at her throat, guards at her back and her fate in the hands of those who cared the least about Nord customs. The old stories and the prophecies would not protect her anymore, or ever again.

He'd heard enough stories about the Thalmor to know that someone believed to be a Nord hero of legend would likely never be heard of for a long while, at the very least.

The image of Vittoria's pained features in her final moments were burned into the back of his mind, and Gods, how he wanted to speak the needed words to take care of his wife's assassin so badly!

He didn't.

He couldn't.

There was still doubt: doubt that this woman was truly the one and only Dragonborn, and that he risked letting the world be destroyed just so he would have his revenge. It was shameful, but he could not be so selfish as to put his own needs and wants higher than the end of the world.

That knowledge was absolute and he could not fight it: the fate of the world was more important than justice for Vittoria. It took him very little to realise that.

So, when the Altmer – growing impatient with Edna's attempts to end the conversation before it began— asked him, once again, from where he knew the woman at her side, Asgeir smiled tiredly in response and spoke, resentment and resignation brewing in his chest.

"We've met once at another formal party." He murmured, the words feeling like ash upon his tongue. "I'm afraid I cannot say much more. It was… a rather large event."

He could sense Edna watching him—finally daring to do so—in disbelief, in confusion, maybe even with awe.

Asgeir couldn't care less. He excused himself shortly, claiming he needed a drink—which, to be fair, he really did.

Elenwen's disappointment carried in her voice as she too bid her leave from Edna, moments later, and just like that, the Dragonborn once again was left to her own devices.

The thought made Asgeir shudder, and he gulped down the wine he'd snatched from one of the servants in one go.

It was, without doubt, going to be needed if he intended to make it through the afternoon.

…

…

…

Edna did not dare to sigh out in relief even once she found herself alone in the middle of the room.

Truthfully, she doubted she would be able to even breathe easily again any time sooner than the moment she found herself safely away from the Thalmor Embassy— or even better, Haafingar Hold all together.

Even then, she would relive her experience at this party in her nightmares, she was sure.

When Asgeir had opened his mouth to speak, she genuinely thought that she was done for. She had felt her heart shrink in her chest and seen the glint of steel and the taste of blood—the strong and rich taste of cooper in her mouth— in her future.

And then he spared her.

Death had taken human form and looked her in the face, and yet she was still alive.

Edna was still surprised that her eyes hadn't popped out of her head when she realised that he would not throw her to the wolves as she'd expected—as anyone would have expected, really.

Still frozen in place, the Nord woman took a few moments to try and process what had just happened, even if her instincts were telling her to get the Void out the nearest door and never come back—because Asgeir was still right there, on just the other side of the room.

And he was staring, and no matter why he'd done what he did, she could tell from his eyes just how much he regretted his decision. He was staring, and Edna just didn't know what he expected her to do. Did he want a thank you? Was she expected to grovel, now?

What was his end-game, and why wasn't he blinking?

But Gods, how she wished he would stop. Just stop existing, if possible.

Part of her was still very much convinced that this was a trap, and that any moment now the guards would burst into malicious laugh and take her away. Still, the Dragonborn forced herself to move, despite the alarm bells that would just not stop chiming in her brain.

If this was not a very elaborate and cruel joke—and while Edna did not doubt the Thalmor's ability to be cruel, she wasn't so sure about their ability to joke—, then she needed to count her lucky stars and try to get on with her quest as discreetly as possible.

She didn't do that, though.

She didn't do the practical thing and go towards Delphine's inside man.

One did not simply go back to chatting up the bartender after what she'd been through, even if it meant that she was ignoring what she'd actually came to this dreadful party for in the first place. She didn't care that she could have really used the drinks. Malborn would just have to understand, and if he didn't, Edna didn't frankly care about that either.

No, what Edna actually did was far more stupid than completing her quest and getting drunk in the process.

What Edna did…was go straight to Asgeir.

* * *

 _Well, next chapter should be fun(for me, not for the characters). Please review and tell me what you think so far (Too dark? Not dark enough? Too absurd? I'm trying to pull off some sort of balance between the serious themes and a subtle sense of humour, so it would be great to hear your thoughts.)_

 _Till next time,_

 _A._


	12. Chapter 12

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Asgeir asked, his tone perfectly flat, but his knuckles were white around his wine cup.

She ignored that entirely.

"Why?" She asked (why did he lie, why did he protect her, why would he not throw her to the wolfs?), trying to copy the blankness in his voice but failing miserably.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes burning her as he no doubt tried to calm himself down. After a few more moments of heavy tension and heated glares, he eventually drowned the rest of his wine and his brows furrowed. "Get out of my face." Was all he said, and he turned, moving away from her.

"No." She refused, and, unsure where her boldness was coming from, she moved to block his way.

His grip tightened further around his cup and Edna heard a crack.

He was furious and she was only making it worse, but she couldn't simply walk away no matter how much she wanted to. Not after he had lied to the Thalmor for her.

She had to—she _needed_ to understand. She needed to know what he was trying to do. Because he was the one person with the most reasons to kill her—well, the only one alive, and who actually knew her face and name outside her Brotherhood armour— and the last person she would expect mercy from. He had helped her, protected her even, and she needed to know-

"Why?" The words escaped her mouth like water, fast and turbid. "Why didn't you tell her anything?"

He ignored her, stepping to the side to continue on his way, but she mirrored the movement. "Move." Asgeir ordered coldly.

Her past weeks had been dreadful and filled with dragons and assassins and the immense pressure of Dephine's warnings in her ear, and Edna was so, so sick of living in constant fear because of things she did not know.

"No." She didn't care about the fact that he wanted to kill her, if he really was going to do it, he would have done it already. Gods knew he'd passed on the perfect opportunity for that just minutes earlier.

He made a sound from the back of his throat that was almost like a growl. "This is not a game. We are not children, and I will not be forced to stand in your vile presence one more moments." He hissed, very much aware that there were eyes taking note of their conversation and that things could turn ugly any moment. Part of him was glad for it, of course, since it would mean she would be caught by the Thalmor after all, and he had to remind himself that he'd went through a lot of trouble to avoid that. It didn't matter that the woman didn't deserve it; he'd made his choice, and he would not allow her to make a scene and undo all his painful effort.

Edna opened her mouth again, no doubt to say something that would make him regret his restrain even more, but she paused when her eyes followed the direction of his gaze.

The Ambassador smiled cordially from across the room, her sharp eyes hawked in on the two of them, and Edna drew in a shaky breath. She saw Asgeir nod his head in the Altmer's direction in acknowledgement and pursed her lips together. If that had been some sort of signal between them, Edna could not tell what it meant.

"I should have let you rot in their prison." He said, turning back to face the Dragonborn, his tone eerily casual and quiet. He was trying not to draw further attention to themselves, and she still felt such confusion about the fact that he was, in some way, still taking precautions not to expose her.

"Tell me,-" He started, pinning her down with a stony stare. "-how long did it take you to get rid of your Imperial warden?" The accusation rand loud in his voice, but his face gave little away. He put his empty, cracked cup on a passing servant's tray and picked up another, and Edna could only stare as he drank half of it at once.

"Jordis is still alive." She answered, a bit awkwardly, and Asgeir laughed coldly. It was sudden and it was loud, and Edna suspected that the alcohol in his veins had much to do with it.

"'Still'." He repeated, mockingly. "And I suppose the only reason she is not here is because you were the only one invited to the party?"

She frowned and pressed her lips together tightly again. When she spoke, she spoke in a measured, careful tone. "I know what you must think of me, and I don't really expect you to believe me, but-" She paused, moving a few stray strands of hair behind her ear in a petty attempt to stall for time. "Look, they say that I'm it." It, the Dragonborn, the Last Dovahkiin, but she didn't dare say it aloud. "And I know the stories, the way my mother told me." She cleared her throat, because she knew what she had to say would sound like. "I won't deny that I am not a good person, or that I didn't think of running. But running…" She trailed off, swallowed, carried on. "If the stories are true, then that's not an option anymore. I'm not running. Not until my role in this whole thing is done, at least."

She lifted her eyes and stared at him, forcing herself to ignore the feeling of being entirely too bare when she did so. "You may not believe me, but I'm at this party for a reason, and it's an important one." She confessed in a quiet voice.

For a long while, Asgeir only stared at her, his mouth set in a frown. The hand that was not holding his drink stroked his beard under his jawline, and he drank the rest of his wine.

"Why couldn't it have been anyone else?" He asked, still staring, his voice quiet, sad, almost small. She didn't think the question was directed towards her, but she too wished she had the answer to that. "It could have been anyone, but out of all those that could have saved us, it had to be you." Again, his tone felt like an accusation. "I cannot even kill you, because of what you are."

Edna smiled a sort of wiry smile, not really finding it in herself to feel offended at the regret he felt at the fact that she was still alive. She couldn't really blame him now, could she? No. Not after what she did at his wedding.

No matter.

It seemed she had the answer to her original question now.

He hadn't saved her out of mercy, not that she ever truly suspected that, but he hadn't spared her to lure her into a trap either.

She was saved by the will of the gods themselves.

…

…

…

She didn't linger after that, mercifully. Actually having a conversation with the woman had caused him to feel physically ill, and the wine didn't do much to help either.

To be entirely honest, not even Asgeir knew what exactly he was doing, and he was vaguely impressed with himself for how well he had kept himself in check. And, all things considering, things could have gone a lot worse, especially as he'd had to hold a conversation with that horrid woman.

He didn't believe a word she said, of course, but the woman at least had the decency to pretend she was trying to do her duty as the Last Dragonborn. Had she tried to thank him for his help, or, even worse, feigned regret and offered cheap apologies, he would have probably hit her. Straight between the eyes, no more discussion.

He refused to dwell more on might-have-beens and threw himself in conversation with one of the businessmen representing the Redguard East Empire Trading Company in Skyrim. The man wasn't truly that interested in talking shop, but Asgeir brought him a few drinks until he was drunk enough to nod along as he made petty conversation.

In the back of his mind, Asgeir knew this was not how he was supposed to spend the afternoon, but though he recognised that he needed to collect information for Maven, he was much too distracted, and his eyes kept following the Dragonborn as she moved around the other side of the room. It wasn't even something he meant to do, but now that he had her in his sight he couldn't not watch her due to the fear that she would do something nefarious any moment.

She was probably already doing it, whatever it was that she needed to be at the reception for, and he was helpless to stop it. It felt like he was fighting against a snowstorm: nothing he did made any difference and he was left feeling numb after it was over.

He swallowed heavily and let air out through his nose, frustrated beyond measure.

"I prefer the Bosmer myself, but your Nord is pretty fine too." Razelan commented loudly in his ear, startling Asgeir from his haze of anxiety and indignation. "But she's a tough one to crack, I can tell." When Asgeir just stared blankly back at him, the Redguard smiled toothily.

He pointed not-so-subtly at the Dragonborn as she leaned against the bar. "Your blondie there, you've been eying her up a while now, but she's not looked this way once. In fact, with the amount of time she'd spent by the bar, I'd say she's not much in a partying mood." Razelan laughed easily and took a swing of his always-present tankard. "But if she's been drinking half as much as me, I'm sure you'll at least get a squeeze if you sneak up on her."

Asgeir's face tuned into an expression of repulsion as he realised what the Redguard was talking about, which only made the man laugh again. "Pfff. I'm not the one whose eyes won't leave her backside."

The Nord lifted his brows in disbelief and was just about to send a scalding reply to that particular comment, but Razelan cut him off with yet another inappropriate outburst. "Hey." He said loudly, elbowing Asgeir in the side. "You might be out of luck after all. Look-" And Asgeir looked, though reluctantly, back towards the bar just in time to notice the Dragonborn and one of the Bostmer working the bar close in conversation. Suspiciously close, even. Asgeir narrowed his eyes in thought, forcing himself to ignore the lingering haze from his drink. "It looks like your lass is into Bosmer as well." Razelan laughed.

"Hey-" Asgeir said slowly, his eyes taking in the scene at the bar and the rest of the room before settling onto the Redguard's amused expression. "-do you think you could do me a favour?"

The man grew slightly more serious, though not entirely so. "What?" He asked, part curiosity and part hesitation.

"I need you to create some sort of diversion." The Nord said. "I need to speak with her."

The Redguard made an expression that was not driven by amusement or lust for the first time since Asgeir started speaking to him. "Why don't you just go and speak to her, then?" He asked, somehow weary.

"I don't want people listening in on us." Asgeir explained, flexing his jaw. He was running out of time: the women and the Bosmer were clearly in cahoots, and whatever they were planning on doing, it was going down soon. He needed to find out what that devil was up to. "I fear our conversation might draw attention."

"Ha." The Redguard smiled. "So you know her. Thought some'ing might be going on there."

Asgeir grit his teeth and let the man think what he will. "Will you help?"

He grinned up at the blond man and lifted his tankard. "Anything for you, my friend. You have been bringing me my refills, after all." He drank the last of his wine and, with a strange giddiness to his movements, he moved towards the centre of the room.

Asgeir nodded shortly and was half-way on his way to the bar by the time Razelan's loud voice called for everyone's attention.

Soon, everyone was starring as the clearly inebriated businessman pointed fingers at the Ambassador herself.

"I propose a toast to Elenwen! Our Mistress!" He said, by which point the guards were taking great notice. "I speak figuratively, of course. Nothing could be more unlikely than that someone would actually want her in their bed."

…

…

…

"Is that your doing?" Malborn asked, looking at the Redguard with a mixt of awe and disbelief.

"No-" Edna said, alarmed and confused, but whatever else she might have had to say was cut off as she noticed the figure making a bee-line towards both her and her contact-man, and she quickly pushed herself away from her place against the bar. "Shit." She swore. "We need to go, now!" She hissed.

Malborn followed the path of her eyes and, alarmed by the urgency he saw on Edna's face, quickly motioned for her to follow him. It was true after all that they couldn't have asked for a better distraction for their plan than this buffoonery. The Thalmor guards were now circling around the clown spouting insults at their ambassador, and no one was sparing them a glance. Except for the Nord heading their way with that scary look on his face, but he wasn't sounding the alarm, and Edna seemed to know him.

The Bosmer opened the kitchen door and waited for Edna to go around the bar and follow him. The man caught up, though, and though Edna was quick he had her by the arm before she could slip past the door.

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Asgeir hissed angrily in her ear, an echo of their first conversation, and Edna yanked her arm away using great strength.

"We don't have time for this." She hissed back, her eyes bouncing all over the place to see what was going on with their distraction. The guards were just trying to restrain Razelan so they could take him away. They had a few moments left.

Asgeir was determined though, she knew at least that. He was stubborn and strange and Edna didn't really know what was going on in his head, but she knew for sure that he would not simply let her go without a good explanation, and they didn't have time.

Ignoring the scorching look in his eyes, she exchanged a glance with Malborn, who was feeling the same panic for time she was, and – with strength she didn't actually know she possessed— she grabbed the other Nord by the shoulders and pulled the both of them through the door.

Razelan's shouting from the other room stopped as soon as the door clicked shut, to be replaced by shouting from the cook, and Asgeir stared at her, accusation in his eyes strong as ever.

Gods, what had she gotten herself in?

* * *

 _Yes, Edna, what have you gotten yourself in this time? *laughs*_

 ** _Don't forget to review, and see you next time!_**


	13. Chapter 13

"Please." Edna hissed, while Malborn talked the cook into quieting down. "Just…just please, do as I say. Everything will be ruined if you don't." Asgeir's hard expression remained unmoved, and Edna bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to handle the possibly disastrous turn of event the day had taken. "I promise; I will explain everything if only you play along for a few moments more."

The Nord's blue eyes glinted angrily, but his head jerked down once in assent. She'd bought herself a few moments.

Edna didn't have time to feel relief, though, not when she was far from being in the clear.

The Bosmer signalled her that the coast was clear from the kitchen, and the Khajiit cook pretended not to notice them as she and Asgeir stepped forward to the other side of the room.

Malborn led them to a small supplies room and directed Edna to get her gear from the bulky wooden chest inside in urgent whispers. She could tell the mer was uneasy, and his eyes kept falling on Asgeir as she moved to retrieve her weapons and armour.

Edna pushed the chest open and, after quickly confirming that everything she'd asked for was there, she took one deep breath and turned to face the two men. "Malborn-" She started, making efforts to keep her voice steady and quiet. "Do you think you could leave us?" She asked, motioning to the door with her eyes.

The suspicion returned in Asgeir's eyes as strong as ever, but both she and the mer ignored it, and Malborn pushed past the tall businessman and closed the door behind him with a warning that time was short.

A short muffled conversation between the Bosmer and the Khajiit woman could be heard from the other side of the door, and Edna found herself alone with the last person she would have ever wanted to be alone with.

For a brief moment, the two Nords stared each other down, before Edna sighed from deep in her chest and made a botched attempt at a smile as some sort of peace offering. It did nothing but make the man's posture stiffen visibly.

"Speak." He said dryly. "What is the real reason you are here? Convince me why I should not call for the guards right now."

Sending a quick prayer to Julianos, Edna hoped her words would somehow persuade him to cooperate, least this was where her journey ended. "The Dragons are returning. There will be hundreds of them." She said, blunt and honest. "The Blades are in Skyrim and they think that the Thalmor are behind it."

She saw his expression change, from anger to suspicion, and she could tell he didn't believe her. "The Blades?" He asked, moving away from the door but still keeping a wide distance between them, something Edna appreciated. "You're telling me there are Blades in Skyrim now?" The disbelief rang clear, and Edna kept her face as open as she could make it, in a hope that he would see the sincerity in her words.

Swallowing down her nerves, Edna nodded, before tuning and bending over the chest again, showing her back as a sign of trust on her part, though she would have not been surprised if he decided to snap her neck instead of listen to her explanations.

She continued to speak as she pulled out her weapons and her gear, fully aware of the eyes watching her every movement. "I've only met one, so far." She said, deciding to continue to tell the truth. "But she is a Blade, no doubt about it."

Ignoring the fact that there was a very unpredictable man in the room with her, Edna brought her hands to the binding of her dress and started pulling them loose, careful not to look Asgeir's way. She didn't have the luxury of waiting until he was out of the room to change, and privacy was something she'd learned to give up during her time in Skyrim. Modesty counted for nothing, after all, if the Thalmor noticed she was missing and found her before she was geared up for a fight. That could get her killed.

There was silence as she pushed her shoulders out of the thick, ornate cotton, and the dress pooled at her feet.

She didn't waste time speculating about what could be going through Asgeir's head at the sight of her, and didn't turn to see his expression; instead, she moved briskly to pull her armour over her undergarments and to strap her daggers to her belt.

When she did turn, she was in full armour, and Asgeir was watching her with a strained jaw and hard eyes. Edna did the last latch over her chestpiece and let her arms drop to her side.

"You can believe me, or not." Edna said, meeting his gaze bravely. "But the dragons are coming back, and handing me over to the guards will not change that. Worse, if the Thalmor know or have something to do with it, it could doom us all."

He didn't respond right away, instead watching her some more, sizing her up now that she had her weapons, no doubt. She wondered if he could see the things she was prepared to do if he decided to start a commotion.

When his voice spoke up, in that frightening cool, controlled tone of his, she was surprised by his question. "And what's your plan, then?" Was what he asked, sounding thoughtful instead of sardonic, at least for the moment. "You'll fight your way through the embassy until you find what you're looking for?"

Her shoulders rose and dropped in a gesture of indifference, but her eyes watched him carefully. "If I must." She gripped at the dagger strapped to her hip. "I intent to try to sneak my way to the ambassador's office, if possible. The last thing I want is to have to fight off all the Thalmor in this place at once. Gods know I stand no chance against so many of them." The woman finished with a frown and, after a brief moment of hesitation, she took a few steps forward, stopping when she was just close enough that her blade would touch his throat with her arm stretched at full length.

"So what now?" Edna asked the all-important question. "If you call the guards, now or later, it will be a blood-bath, and I will either escape or die." She made sure he understood that getting captured was not part of her plans, but his only reaction was the slightest furrowing of his brows. "You could, of course, decide to try to stop me yourself, in which case this will go two ways: I could kill you, my cover will still have been blown, and the Thalmor will be here quickly; or you could kill me, and everything ends here, tonight."

Her grey eyes gleamed as she spoke, presenting him with the outcomes as if she were a businesswoman talking about numbers.

"In each and every one of these scenarios, all that has happened earlier this day will have been for naught. I will be no closer to stopping Alduin than before."

Asgeir glared, unappreciative of the way she was trying to summarise the whole situation into just the cold, hard facts: into the logical. "You would, of course, preferred that I did neither of those things." He answered dryly. "And would you like to offer me an alternative, then?" He continued, a hint of the rage he was feeling seeping into his voice, making it rumble lowly in his throat. She very much took notice, her shoulders rolling back as her posture tensed. "You forget one thing: I don't trust you. In fact, if I haven't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't trust you to bleed when I cut you."

His blue eyes were the darkest she'd ever seen them, and they gazed at Edna with familiar hate. For a moment, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever hated anything or anyone as passionately as he did her; there was a twisted sort of thrill she got from entertaining the idea that she really was the thing he felt most strongly about, the one he abhorred so.

It took his a few seconds, but he seemed to rein himself in, and when he spoke next, his voice was cold, a far cry from his hot anger. "Tell me, then." He commanded, with disdain. "What would the mighty Dragonborn have me do?"

Her heart raced and her fingers twitched for her weapons.

"Nothing." Edna admitted. "I expect you to go back and say no more of what you saw or heard. Just let me go. It should be easy to do." She pointed out almost hopefully. "Malborn should be able to sneak you back into the party with no one the wiser. You can turn back and we can both pretend we never recognised each other in that room."

He responded slowly, anger clouding his face. "Easy?" He repeated in a hoarse voice, seconds before the sound of Asgeir's fist slamming into the stone wall rang loud into the air. Edna took a step back and watched him with weary eyes. "After what you have done, you would dare ask such things from me?" He asked in that same tight, gruff voice. "After what you've done to my bride? Do you have no decency?"

His voice grew louder with his anger, and Edna worried that he might alarm the guards.

She stood motionless, her face hard and guarded, but there was the strangest feeling of unease eating at her like a bad itch.

"What is it that you want me to say?" She demanded carefully, a flicker of defiance in the depths of her grey eyes. "Do you want me to tell you how sorry I am? Should I grovel and beg and force tears at your feet?" She said, meeting his gaze, and her voice grew colder as she spoke. "Nothing I will do or say will bring her back. No apology of mine will fill the void she left in your heart, and regret is as worthless as fire-magic in a storm." Edna twisted her lips in something between a frown and a snarl, and she took steps towards Asgeir as she spoke. "If you're looking to make me regret—to see me repent and pay for what I did—" The woman cut her sentence off absurdly, aware that she was working herself into a frenzy.

She stopped, straightened her back and calmed her breath, so that her tone when she spoke again was much cooler, and much more controlled.

"I suggest you quit this now, if that is indeed the case." She advised in a blank tone. "It will accomplish nothing." And it wouldn't. No matter how many things both of them might want to change what happened that day, what was done was done.

Edna saw Asgeir's finger press into the stone and try to dig into the wall at her words; she saw his lips curl into a snarl. She took a calculated step back and watched him immediately claim the distance she'd surrender. The man did not stop there, though; he kept advancing with large steps, forcing her back where she started from, with the still-empty chest hitting against the back of her heels.

He looked mad, in all possible senses of the word, and Edna waited, one of her hands gripping the shelf to her right loosely. ''I've long wondered what the gods saw in you that made you worthy of being Dragonborn." Was the first thing Asgeir said once he could unclench his teeth, and she looked at him with mild curiosity. "I see it now." He said. "I suppose there is no need for valour or a conscience if your one purpose is to kill the devourer of worlds."

Edna let her fingers travel over the smooth handle of the metal tankard on the edge of the shelf and kept her eyes firmly on his face. "The Divines reward all that are gifted in their profession, even the murderers." She told him in response, an almost-joke, and saw the anger flare on his face once more.

"Do not think-" Asgeir leaned in to warn her, his face close enough that she could make out the faint freckles on his nose."- that being a killer of killers makes you any less a monster than you are, Dragonborn." He spoke the title as if it was something vile, and maybe it was.

She swallowed quickly and held her head higher, putting a small amount of distance between them. "For what it is worth-" Edna said with a hint of something undefined in her voice. "- I truly am sorry."

She saw his brows furrow and the start of disbelief grow in his eyes, and then she heard him groan and fall to the ground as she brought down the tankard hard against the side of his head.

The first blow didn't knock him fully unconscious, though, and she had to hit him again when he tried to stand back up, this time straight between the eyes with the back of one of her daggers. She made sure he was still breathing, and then she finally stepped over his prone body and slipped out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

She slit the throat of the first Thalmor guard while his friend was busy pouring himself a drink on the other side of the room. The second guard had no way of knowing their conversation was as dead as his bleeding partner, and he turned to listen to what the deadman had to say only to be met with a dagger to the back.

Edna did not blink as she twisted the blade, placing one hand over the mer's mouth to muffle the sound of him choking on his own blood, and laid the body soundlessly on the ground once the life faded out of his eyes. She wiped her hands —suddenly so warm and sticky and red— on the man's armour and rose nimbly to her feet.

She crossed the room, stepping over the bodies; she avoided stepping into the blood as she did— ' _messy, you'd make it easy for pursuers to track you, that's not how we operate, sister'_ , dark eyes staring from a darkened room, daggers clashing and the smell of fresh blood—, and tried not to think too hard about how it had been a reflex, rather than a conscious decision on her part to do so.

Edna stuck to the shadows from there, for the most part, adding only a few more kills to her name before she found herself in the ambassador's office, and in possession of several Thalmor dossiers.

As she started making her way towards the dungeon, she knew enough from the conversations she'd overheard and from the stories she'd heard and read about the Thalmor to have an idea about what to expect. The Thalmor were not known for their gentle persuasion skills nor for their mercy, and she was not surprised by the torture going on under their embassy. She threaded lightly and made use of all her stealth as she examined the room, and found a place to hide between two cells as she heard the sound of footsteps going down the stairs.

She recognised the Altmer mage that soon made his appearance as the man she'd pickpocketed the key to the interrogation chamber from earlier, Rulindil. By his side, there was another Thalmor guard, but Edna was far more interested in the mage. If memory served, he was one of the more important Thalmor serving under Elenwen, which immediately made Edna tense.

She could hear the man in the cell nearest to her start to beg for mercy as the Altmer approached, and it confirmed the Dragonborn's suspicion that that this was the prisoner who the Thalmor thought had valuable information— and valuable information which might interest the Blades as well, if this Blade the Thalmor were after was who the Nord woman suspected the old man to be.

"No...for pity's sake...I've already told you everything..." The prisoner begged, and as the sound of something hitting flesh resounded in the room, Edna did nothing.

Rulindil was a dangerous opponent, as Thalmor mages often were, and he was not alone, yet Edna knew she could take them in a fight if she had too. She had the element of surprise and the Voice at her disposal. She could stop them.

Still, she did nothing, not until Rulindil had managed to get all the information out of his prisoner first, after which she did not hesitate to Shout the two mer to the other side of the room, and kill them in cold blood.

Edna Grey-Fur was not a good person.

It had taken her a while, but she had come to accept that. A good person did not walk over still-warm corpses without a backwards glance. A good person did not let an innocent man be tortured just because she thought the information he was giving his torturer might be useful. A good person did not—

She freed the prisoner, but could not make herself to look him in the eyes even as she undid the locks to his manacles.

Edna was a killer first. She was a good killer. She was strong and quick and resourceful, and, as she'd been told not too long before: one needn't worry about being a good person if all she needed to be to save the world was a good killer.

So, she kept busy. She did what she was good at.

When she heard Malborn's voice coming from upstairs, and realised that he'd been outed as a spy in the time it took her to navigate the embassy, she killed the two Thalmor guards that were planning on cutting him down. Warm blood splashed against the left side of her face and some got into her mouth, but she didn't blink. From the corner of her eye, she saw Malborn flinch away at the sight of the carnage, or maybe at the sight of her, but Edna forced her heartbeat to remain steady and turned to face him with a calm drilled into her by Astrid herself over the course of a very long winter.

"I suppose I took too long." She said, a statement, not a question. The Bosmer swallowed visibly, unsettled by her voice or her tone, or maybe still not over the sight of two decapitated men. Edna might have gone a bit overboard after she grabbed hold of one of the guard's sword. No fault of her own, really; one could say all they wanted about the Altmer, but their craftsmanship was lovely, and it would have been a shame not to use such a fine weapon. "Come on, we've been too loud, and I fear more Thalmor might be joining us soon as a result."

Her warning snapped the Bosmer out of his daze, and his lips curled immediately into a frown. "None of this would have happened if you'd have just hurried. Or if you've avoided that Nord at the reception." Malborn claimed, as they climbed down the stairs. "He was probably the one to call the alarm."

For no apparent reason, Edna felt the need to protest. "I knocked him out before I moved to infiltrate the embassy." She dismissed his presumption. "He's probably just now waking up."

Malborn's frown turned into a subtle sneer. "You could have just as well killed him." He said, making Edna pause and look at him. "What do you mean?" She demanded, causing the Bosmer to lift a brow. His expression seemed to imply the answer was obvious, and for some reason Edna did not like where this was going.

"If he's still in that supply room, the Thalmor will find his soon enough, and I think we both know what will happen then." Edna could make an educated guess, and the possibilities made an uneasy feeling grow in her stomach. Still, Malborn was not done speaking. "The will throw him in the dungeons. There were probably enough people that noticed the two of you interact, and that's assuming that there were no people that saw him follow you away from the party. They'll probably assume he was working with you either way. It doesn't help that he's a Nord, either."

Edna felt that unease grow, but told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about.

As she stooped down to unlock the secret hatch in the floor that would get them out of the damned place, though, Edna found herself hesitating.

Gods. _Fucking_. Damn. It.

She didn't owe him anything. She was nothing but an assassin, and a failed one at that, and she'd never asked for any of this. It wasn't her fault that he'd followed her to the kitchens.

She wasn't a good person. She didn't need to be, either. Asgeir had said so himself.

Still, she found herself handing the key to Malborn. "Go." She said, the words escaping her reluctantly. "There's something else I need to do."

The Bosmer looked at her as if she were crazy, and Edna couldn't fault him for it. "Don't be stupid!" He hissed. "We need to go."

Edna shook her head and tried to not pay too much attention at the terrified face of the prisoner from earlier. "Just go. Both of you. Here, take my daggers." She handed a thin blade to the still unnamed man, and saw him relax just a fraction. "If it's a choice between using them or running, I say you run. Malborn can probably help you get to safety."

As an afterthought, she grabbed the papers Delphine had asked for from her pack and handed it to the elf as well. "Make sure they get to the old woman, yeah?"

The Bosmer in question opened and closed his mouth like a fish, and Edna waved an impatient hand in his face. "I'm going. Leave the door unlocked for when I need to get out of here, and good luck."

…

…

…

Asgeir awoke to the sound of angry shouting and a horrible headache. He brought one hand to his temple and paused when he touched something wet.

There was blood on his fingers when he brought them down to see what that was about, and all that had transpired before he'd been knocked unconscious suddenly came back to him. With it, the rage too came back, with all the subtlety of a charging giant.

He couldn't even blame Maven; the woman had no way of knowing the Dragonborn would attend the party when she sent him to the Embassy in her place. He swore to strangle that blasted assassin the next time they met, for hitting him so hard, if nothing else.

"That wench!" The man hissed under his breath, trying to figure out what else was going on.

"Quiet!" A voice suddenly roared, and Asgeir couldn't help wincing in pain. The earlier voices died down, and Asgeir blinked away the blurriness around his vision and tried to focus on the golden figure that seemed to have spoken last.

The sight of the Thalmor Ambassador herself was not what he'd been expecting, and he found himself swallowing thickly.

"Hello, traitor." Elenwen said, cold and deadly, and Asgeir cursed softly under his breath.


	15. Chapter 15

_Well guys, it has been a long, long wait. Sorry about that, things were a bit crazy, but h_ _ere is Chapter 15._

 ** _Read, review, and e_ _njoy!_**

* * *

Asgeir Snow-Shod's day had started so well: he'd woken up from a surprisingly restful slumber in his cosy room at 'The Winking Skeever', he'd had a warm and filling breakfast, and he'd reached the Thalmor Embassy in good time for the party. It was difficult to comprehend how, in a matter of only a few short hours, he had ended up in a Thalmor dungeon, stripped to his underclothes and with his arms painfully numb because his hands were shackled to the wall over his head.

Somewhere in the distance the party was still ongoing, while, in the dungeon, the Thalmor Ambassador loomed over Asgeir with a whip held threateningly in both hands. When he got out of bed that morning, the Nord had imagined that the most exciting or dangerous thing that would happen to him that day would be getting someone's name wrong or spilling his drink on another guest, yet here he was about to be tortured for information by a Thalmor First Emissary. Asgeir couldn't tell if he was more bewildered or horrified by this turn of events.

His mind replayed the day's events in a loop: from his arrival to the Thalmor party, to Vittoria's murderer making her appearance and the events that followed, and ending with her inevitable deception. He tried to remember every detail of his conversations with the foul woman, trying to figure out if she had planned all of this— getting him captured by the Thalmor—, or if he had just been unfortunate enough to become another would-be casualty in the mighty Dragonborn's path.

"Asgeir Snow-Shod." Ambassador Elenwen's precise tone snapped the Nord out of his thoughts and brought his attention back to the situation at hand. "The Snow-Shod family is well known for their sympathies towards Ulfric's cause. Your sister even joined the Stormcloaks and died fighting for him, did she not? It makes one wonder about your own loyalties in the matter."

Asgeir kept his expression as calm as he could and forced himself to look Elenwen in the eye despite of how nervous her words had made him; the last thing he needed was to look guilty by avoiding her gaze. Asgeir had not considered that the Thalmor would bring up, or even be so well informed, about his family's affiliations. He realised that things might look even worse than he'd thought.

"This is all a big misunderstanding." He said, speaking as clearly and calmly as he could as he ignored the discomfort cause by his awkward position. "My family is an old Nord name, but we are honest people, and I can assure you that I have no interest in Ulfric's war."

"And you expect me to believe that the fact that you disappeared shortly before my Embassy was infiltrated, alongside the woman responsible for the infiltration, was pure coincidence." The Ambassador smiled ironically, but it was a short-lived thing that gave way to another icy expression.

Asgeir did not let her response discourage him.

"I realise how things must look, but I'm sure we can talk things through, if you speak with Maven Bla-"

The first blow of Elenwen's whip was so sudden it had Asgeir strain violently against his restrains. The Nord sucked in a breath and let it out in a hiss.

"Now, let us start over." The Altmer said in a clipped tone. "Who was that woman, and how did you know her?"

"I don't know her name. I've only seen h-"

The Thalmor Ambassador brought the whip down a second time, this time diagonally, leaving a long, bleeding band up Asgeir's abdomen and all the way to his collarbone. The third blow connected with less force, but hit exactly on top of the second lash, making it equally painful. Asgeir grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out, and it wasn't long until he could taste blood in his mouth.

The Ambassador moved closer, looming dangerously in his face.

"Who was she?" Elenwen asked again, her voice cutting like glass, and when he didn't answer fast enough her fingers grabbed suddenly at his matted blonde hair, forcing his gaze up with unyielding strength.

"I don't kno-Ah!" Electricity surged unexpectedly from the woman's grip on him, making all the muscles in his body contract painfully.

"I want her name." The woman demanded, keeping the electricity coming. "Who is she?"

Asgeir hissed, the pain making it hard to think. He swallowed, tasting blood in his mouth, and refused to answer the Altmer. Not because he had any sort of loyalty towards the Last Dragonborn, but because the Thalmor were truly living up to their not-so-stellar reputation, and he would not give in to torture. He was a businessman, not a warrior, but he was a Snow-Shod first, and a Snow-Shod did not break under a bit of pain.

Finally, after several more agonising seconds, the electricity died down.

"Was she working for Ulfric and his band of senseless fanatics? Are you?" The Ambassador said through gritted teeth, a twisted scowl on her face, while Asgeir tried to catch his breath.

"Talk, and I might be more lenient on you."

Her gaze remained steely even as she tried to sweeten her harsh tone, and Asgeir couldn't help the smallest breath of laughter— as if he was a big enough fool to believe such a statement. The sound made Elenwen dig her nails hard into the back of his head, anger evident on her sharp features. She shocked him again as punishment, making the man cry out in pain, before finally letting go of him and taking a step back. Asgeir didn't allow himself to feel relief; especially when he saw her grip her whip with both hands again.

"Do you find this amusing?" She snapped at him in a deadly tone. Another swing of the whip, and Elenwen's glare was fierce. "Do you think, perhaps, that someone is coming to save you?" She mocked him by laughing, toying with the end of the whip, and even her laugh was sharp like a weapon. "Your little friend has long since made her escape." She stared him down with a cruel sort of satisfaction. "She abandoned you the first chance she got."

The man didn't react; the Dragonborn was not his accomplice, she had never been, and he'd already assumed she would be gone by the time he woke up. She'd been the one to beat him unconscious, after all. That had been the whole point: escaping.

"I barely know that woman. She was the one to attack me and leave me unconscious in that closet." He spat out some blood, grimacing at the pain that resulted from something as simple as stretching his neck. "I had nothing to do with whatever she did today and I would hardly expect her to come rescue me."

"Very well…" Elenwen muttered, her eyes filled with irritation and a hint of anticipation. "…we shall do this the hard way."

Predictably, the whip came down again, this time with considerably more force; Asgeir felt the skin over his hip split open in a thin line, the pain like a burn. It made his eyes water and his vision darken around the edges.

There were no more questions for a while, only pain, more and more blows until Asgeir grew slack in his chains, his breathing shallow and laborious.

In between blows, Asgeir contemplated his fate, and he contemplated death.

Asgeir had thought about his death before— few did not wonder about their end in the age of dragons reborn and civil war— but he had never considered that he might die in a Thalmor torture room. His brother? Sure, he could see Unmid ending up in such a place. Unmid was a loud supporter of Ulfric and his rebellion, and he didn't shy away from declaring it for the world to hear. It wasn't farfetched to imagine him catching the Thalmor's interest.

But Asgeir was nothing like his brother; he didn't believe in Ulfric's cause, and he was never involved in the war. When Asgeir had imagined his death, he'd thought he'd die of something common, like an illness, or maybe old age, if he was lucky. Something boring and not overly painful. At worst, he'd expected that he'd be ended by the blade of some lowly bandit on one of his trips between cities.

Maybe it was Fate. Vittoria had died young, and now he was following her in the after-life. Maybe it was only fair. Asgeir Snow-Shod was not a poetic man, though, and he found it hard to accept that this was to be his end.

More than anything, he didn't wish to die at the Thalmor's hands. Doing so would only fuel his parent's anger at the elves, at the Empire. It would bury them in sorrow and hate. They were going to end up trapped in their way of thinking forever. For one brief, insane, moment, Asgeir found himself thinking that it would have been better if the Dragonborn had killed him instead. Instead of leaving him for the Thalmor, she could have done what she was so good at and finished him off, ending what she started on the day of his wedding, when she first disrupted his life.

The pain kept coming and the Last Dragonborn's face flashed in his memory with every burst of it, and wasn't that just so fitting?

Eventually, Elenwen paused. A Thalmor mage entered the room, interrupting her mid-swing, and the Ambassador lowered her whip.

The mage moved to her superior's side, head bowed respectfully, golden hair peaking from behind the hood of her dark robes.

"Yes, what is it?" Elenwen questioned the other woman, a hint of impatience in her voice.

Asgeir lifted his head just in time to see the Thalmor mage push a dagger into the Ambassador's side.

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 _How many of you saw that one coming?_


	16. Chapter 16

_And I'm back! Thank you all for still following/reading this story, I know I've been horrible when it came to updates._

 _I hope this chapter was worth the wait!_

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The Thalmor Ambassador started to scream, ended up choking on her own blood half-way through it, and finally dropped to the floor in a heap.

"Shit." Edna swore violently under her breath. It anyone was outside the room, they definitely heard that. The assassin could only hope that no one recognised Elenwen's voice, or that they just dismissed the noise as coming from a prisoner. Only that, of course, Asgeir was the only prisoner in the room and he sounded nothing like the Ambassador.

"Gods damn it!" The Dragonborn cursed her bad luck.

Edna had not meant to stab the ambassador. She really hadn't. To be honest, the woman wasn't sure what she thought would happen when she entered that room.

She'd half-expected Elenwen to see right through her disguise and attack her on sight, still surprised that her little masquerade had worked for so long, or at all, in the first place.

When the ambassador didn't recognise her, Edna had thought about inventing some sort of excuse to get Elenwen out of the room, some lie about the Altmer's presence being urgently needed at the party. The lie had been on the tip of her tongue, ready to be delivered, but then…

Then, Edna had caught a glimpse of what the Thalmor bitch had done to Asgeir, all the cuts and bruises on his sun-kissed skin, and his face— his noble face— so bloodied and swollen, and she'd acted without thinking.

"Shit, shit, shit." The Dragonborn continued to swear, eyes flying around the room as she considered her next move, and lingering only briefly on Asgeir's figure. The man was bloodied and limp, deep gashes stretching across his front, some of them starting from his abdomen and ending at the top of his shoulders. His whole right side was a mess of raw flesh, and there was a fractal pattern of lines under the skin of his neck, bright red but slowly turning purple. _Shock damage._ Elenwen had tortured him with electrocution. The assassin recognised it even from a distance.

Edna didn't want to think too hard about what would have happened if she took longer to get to Asgeir. Or if she never came back for him.

Taking a deep breath, Edna jumped back into action. First things first, after all, she needed to get Asgeir out of those shackles and see how bad the damage really was. The rest of the plan could come later.

Edna moved to step past Elenwen, when she was suddenly pushed back by a burst of magicka, strong enough that she was forced to take a few steps back. Quickly finding her footing, Edna turned to face her attacker, unsurprised to see that the Altmer Ambassador had regained consciousness.

Ambassador Elenwen groaned loudly and pressed her hands against her side to slow down the bleeding there, her palms glowing bright with magic. "…you!" The Almer hissed, looking up at the Nord in disbelief and anger.

" _Tiid_!" The dragon shout left her throat on instinct, and Edna felt the world slow down around her. Baring her teeth, the Dragonborn eyed the still-bleeding Altmer on the floor. The Ambassador's body glowed softly with magic, the woman's eyes were still glossy and unfocused, and her lips were slightly parted, a yell for help getting ready to burst from her mouth.

"Shit." Edna said one last time, and moved quickly towards the woman while everything else stood almost still around her. The assassin might not have wanted to be chosen as the Last Dragonborn, but there were definitely perks to it as well, and the ability to slow down time with a word was definitely one of them. Not bothering with finesse, Edna got close to Elenwen and knocked the woman out, this time with a powerful kick of her leg to the side of the Altmer's head. The woman dropped back down like a rock as time rushed back to its normal pace.

There was a small sound from the back of the room, and looking back at Asgeir, Edna realised, to her great disbelief, that the man was still conscious. _'Stubborn man.'_ She thought to herself, seeing the tension in his shoulders, the strength there.

Letting air out slowly through her nose, she ignored the urge to look away from his gaze, from his sharp eyes, and forced herself to go to him. They were running out of time, after all— because even if no one noticed Elenwen's screams, then they definitely heard Edna's Thuum—, and she needed to get both of them out of the Embassy.

"Easy…" She said as she approached him, weary of how he might react to her being so close. She kept her hands where he could see them, held in front of her in a pacifying gesture. "I'm going to get you out." She told him softly, glancing meaningfully at his shackled hands.

The sound of her voice did nothing to put the man at ease, of course; Asgeir's wrists strained against his restrains and he shuddered. He never took his eyes off her, and Edna tried not to be shaken by his gaze, by the unnamed emotions brimming behind it.

"You…are not here." He said, in a raspy voice. "You…" He interrupted himself by coughing blood, and Edna rushed into action, grabbing a lockpick from the pouch around her middle and reaching for the lock of his shackles.

"Get away!" He tried to snarl once he recovered, but his voice was faint and it broke half-way through. "Get-" Her gloved fingers brushed his bare skin as she fiddled with the lock and he let out a shuddering breath, chest heaving with the useless effort to pull away from her.

"Don't fight me." She told him, half a threat and half a plea. "We need to get out of here, fast."

The way the Thalmor had shackled him made it impossible for the man to sit straight, his back forced to bend awkwardly, which made them the same height, eye-level. His eyes were haunted as he looked at her, and so tired. He gave a pained grunt and his eyes snapped shut, his hands tightening into fists.

He nodded his assent, one jerky movement of his head that took Edna by surprise. He truly was stronger that she'd expected him to be, the very fact that he was still conscious a display of sheer force of will.

While his eyes were closed, Edna couldn't stop herself from looking at his half-naked body: the hard planes of his stomach, the width of his arms and the length of his legs. She felt shame and disgust for the way the sight made her heart beat harder in her chest.

Tearing her eyes away, she steadied her slightly shaky fingers around the lockpick.

The first shackle snapped open with a click, and Asgeir's arm fell limply to his side with a hiss of pain. She moved around him to reach the second lock, and he didn't make any move to stop her.

When the second lock opened, Asgeir fell forward, and Edna was there to catch him.

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 _Review?_


	17. Chapter 17

_That took a while, but I'm finally back.  
_

 _Enjoy!_

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Asgeir's breath hit her neck in hot waves as she held him up and the smell of his blood and sweat invaded her sense. She felt the weight and warmth of his body against her even through the thick leather of her stolen clothes. Edna swallowed thickly as she steadied herself and moved to lower the man down to the floor so she could examine his wounds.

Her gloves were sticky with his blood when she pulled them back to her side, and, kneeling over Asgeir on the floor, no one could see the faint tremors shaking her legs. Finally, after a steadying breath, Edna made herself look at Asgeir's body.

The first thing her eyes were drawn to were the darkening bruises spread like spiderweb around his neck and shoulders, scratched under his skin. The man's normally golden skin was pale from blood-loss and the marks the Ambassador's magicka had left behind stood out like blood on snow. In some places, the skin was shiny like scar tissue; in others, it was dark and swollen like dead flesh. Edna's fingers clenched with the useless urge to press her palms over the damaged skin, if only to cover up the gruesome sight.

Ignoring the strange impulse to touch, Edna forced her eyes to move further down his body, and the sight that followed was just as bad as the one before: purple and yellow bruises, burned skin and bleeding wounds. His right side, the whole space from his hip to where his ribs ended, was just as bad as she'd expected. Edna could just barely make out bone under the blood pouring from the open wounds where Elenwen cut into him with her whip, over and over again.

From the corner of her eye, Edna saw Asgeir's neck tremble as he swallowed, a reminder that he was still awake, and the woman was blown away all over again by the fact that anyone who was in such bad shape would be holding on to consciousness.

The woman swallowed again, her throat still far too tight, and reached for the supplies pouch around her middle, hoping feverishly that she still had some of the Greater Healing potions she'd bought from Angeline's shop, and not only the weaker, watered-down versions she'd made herself in one of her blotchy attempts at practicing alchemy. Her fingers closed around the familiar shape of one of Angeline's potions and Edna allowed herself the smallest feeling of relief.

Wasting no time, she popped open the cork and carefully lifted Asgeir's head just enough so he would be able to drink it. He didn't struggle when she brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed as best as he could, his eyes closing with the effort. Edna kept her eyes on the red liquid inside the bottle to keep herself from staring at his face or neck again.

Getting Asgeir to drink the whole bottle was a slow process, many long and awkward moments of Edna's fingers in his hair while she felt far too aware of how close they were, but Edna knew that Asgeir needed to drink every drop in that bottle.

Once it was done, Edna placed his head back gently and watched as the potion started to work its magic, knowing it would not be enough to get the man on his feet. The worst of the wounds on his side were the first to start healing, flesh and skin stitching back together so most of the bleeding stopped, and some of the worst burn skin on his shoulders faded from angry red to a bright pink. It was a good start, at least.

"Alright." Edna breathed softly under her breath, and she only hesitated for a second before she peeled off her gloves. "Alright, let's try this…" She murmured, as she brought her hands up, hovering over his chest. Slowly, her palms started to glow with the warm light of restoration magic. The light flickered at first, betraying her lack of practice in the magical arts, but managed to keep steady after a few seconds.

Edna knew that she needed to be as fast and efficient as possible, her magicka reserves were limited and her proficiency with even basic spells like Healing was laughable, so she braced herself and lowered her hands over Asgeir's skin. The contact was bound to make both of them uncomfortable, but it would maximise the spell's efficiency.

Asgeir tensed at the touch, she felt it, his skin under hers and only blood between them. Edna didn't allow herself to think about it as she healed as much damage as she could with as much clinical detachment as she could muster. It was, admittedly, far less than she used to achieve in the not-so-distant past, but Edna had come to accept that there was just something about this man that always threw her off her game.

He should have been cold as a corpse, with how much blood he'd lost, but his skin burned hot under her naked palms, so hot she could feel it even with the warmth of restoration magic running through her hands. Even though she expected it, it unsettled her.

It didn't take long before Edna's magicka ran out, and she quickly downed a Lesser Magicka potion so she could cast the spell a second time. Once her hands started glowing again, she brought them gingerly to his neck and tried her best to heal some of the deep damage left behind by the electricity Elenwen used on him. It was a delicate process that took far more precision than Edna was capable of, but she did the best she could and tried not to pay any mind to the fact that she could feel his pulse so clearly under her palms.

As she worked, Asgeir's eyes stayed closed the whole time, and the woman was grateful for it.

"This will have to do." Edna said as she moved her hands away, the taste of magic still in the back of her throat. "We need to go. You'll have to lean on me." She said, fitting one arm around his still tender waist and lifting the man up as carefully as she could. Edna helped Asgeir wrap his left arm around her shoulder so that his injured side was facing away from her, and the two of them started walking towards the door.

"If guards show up, I might need to fight them. You'll have to let go and try to stay out of harm's way, but I cannot guarantee that any of us will make it out of here alive."

He didn't have anything to say to that, but when Edna took one last look at him, half-expecting him to be facing away from her, he stared back at her with those unsettling blue eyes of his, and his hand tightened weakly around her shoulder.

Tearing her eyes away, Edna pushed the door to the dungeon open.

…

…

…

Asgeir was somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness for most of the journey through the Embassy. His head spinning, his hands shaking and the taste of blood in his mouth, he had only a few brief moments of startling lucidity: the pain of being dropped to a stone floor, the sound of a struggle filtering briefly past the dullness of his senses, a splash of red in the corner of his vision, a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey…" A soft voice called out as someone wrapped an arm around his waist. "We're almost there."

Asgeir looked at the woman holding him up, truly seeing her for the first time since he'd left the dungeon: her eyes were grey, dull and dark like stone, but her cheeks were flushed red, alive and glowing. She had blood on her chin, dripping down her neck, and some of it in her blonde hair. Past the scraps and the dirt and the hood casting shadows over her face, she was undeniably real. The Dragonborn truly did come back for him.

It hadn't been a vision.

Asgeir found that he couldn't form any words. If he'd had the strength, he might have thrown up.

As it was, he was too weak to fight her as she lowered them through a door in the floor and into an underground tunnel leading outside the Thalmor's Embassy, and he was in too much pain not to be grateful when she carried most of his weight.

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 _Good? Bad? I admit, I had a lot of fun writing Edna in this one.  
_

 _Don't forget to review!_


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